The Black Knight
by TheLaughingMan1
Summary: During a battle Harry Potter, was thrown back through time to an era of myth and magic. There he will learn the lies of history, the truth behind the legends, and make more enemies than he can count. As he struggles to survive, makes new friends, and keep up with the lies surrounding him, he finds a new cause to fight for...but it may not be the right one.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I don't own Merlin or Harry Potter, they belong to their respective owners and I am not making any money off of this.

SCENE BREAK

Time was a curious thing. Fate even more so. You could go back over a thousand years, yet destiny must be heeded, it will follow you into the deepest of hells and warmest of heavens. It did not stalk like a hunter might, no, it was ever present, a force of nature as sure as the cool streams of water and the rich soil of the earth. One could flee from it, fight it, curse it, but in the end it will collect it's due. He knew that better than most. Fortunately, avoiding fate was not something that he intended to do. He only wished to buy precious time for himself, time to grow strong and powerful enough to meet his destiny head on then come out victorious. His enemy had been given the time to become great, now it was his turn to rise.

For the longest time, Harry had thought that Voldemort was his destiny, but the battle at the Department of Mysteries had changed a great many things and forced him to ask questions without an answer. The Prophecy had revealed a cold truth about himself, one he had avoided thinking about for five long years: he was born to be a killer, it was quite literally the sole reason of his birth to be a murderer. Killing was the point of his existence, the reason behind it all: his parents, Voldemort, the Dursleys, his estrangement from his Housemates. All of it was training, lessons to mold him into a murderer to rival his enemy. The lessons were taught to him, hammered into his very soul as it forged the softness into hardness and strength while his mind grew ever more suspicious of those around him, even those whom he trusted above all else.

When the curse in the Time Room sent him flying back through time, he had thought that fate had given him the opportunity to grow more powerful. Here, he had the precious time to build up his magic and learn the valuable skills that he would need to command the war effort. Ironically, in order to become more powerful he had been forced to unlearn five years of Hogwarts' education. All of the spells, all of the magical theory, all of it had to go in order to make room for knowledge forgotten by the Wizarding World in their complacency and de-evolution. The Druids taught him true magic, the magic of the Earth and how to mix it with the magic within himself to create effects far more powerful than any wanded wizards. How foolish the wizards had been, relying whole upon themselves, their sticks, and their own weak magic.

The second thing he had learned was that History of Magic was nothing but lies. Perhaps he should have expected that, it was part of the Ministry doctrine after all. Flame Freezing Charms, indeed. There was no such spell, not when it was needed most. Harry had seen magical people, his own kin, the elderly and the very young burned alive at the stake. After the first execution, Harry began to see things from Voldemort point of view as much as he detested it. Voldemort may have been evil, but he was correct in one thing: muggles were monsters. He had thought the Dursleys to be the exception, not the rule, yet he was proven wrong again as he had watched the cheering of children as they watched his people burn and scream and writhe in agony. It was horrific, a terrible wake up call on the ugliness that lately in everyone. Not merely those whom he had called evil, but even the common people with their children and hovels.

Harry had known hatred then, he had known vengeance in his heart, and, worst of all, he knew it was wrong yet he couldn't stop it. Here magic was outlawed and punishable by death, from the youngest babe to the eldest man. History of Magic never mentioned that part. It never told of how they screamed, of how their peaceful ancestors were hunted down like Jews in Nazi Germany with informants and rewards offered. He tried not to let the hate get to him, but it proved to be an impossible task and a new found coldness for the masses crept into his young heart as he tearfully watched the executions. There was nothing that he could do. If he was to try and rescue them as he wanted then he would lose and be bound to a stake alongside of him. The rank smell of burning flesh was as unforgettable as the screams and become intertwined within his mind, his memories that haunted him whenever he slept.

Luckily for Harry, he was an educated man and an able conjurer so just about everyone who met was convinced he was nobility. The excellent manners which he had mastered at the Dursleys from when he was young served him well and allowed him to dine at fine tables while blending with the aristocracy. The Druid Alvarr helped him to forge false documents of nobility and family lines, using his actual history and names as a base to weave a lie so well crafted that even he partially believed it. It helped that it was partially true. The Potters were nobles, after all, even if they were of a lower standing than say the Blacks or the Longbottoms. In honor of his godfather whom had perished at the battle for the Prophecy, Harry took on the alias Hadrian Black of the Welsh Blacks and used a white Hungarian Horntail as his sigil to remind himself to be as fierce as the beast he had fought yet pure of intention like the snow.

On Alvarr's advice, Harry had traveled to the Isle of the Blessed to learn under the High Priestess Nimmue. It had been difficult to gain an audience with her and had required exhausting tasks from him, but in the end she had taught him powerful magic as ancient as Albion itself and just as untamable. She had even asked that he remain on the Isle with her, safe and hidden from the cruel eyes of those like Uther Pendragon. He had been tempted, oh so very tempted by her knowledge and beauty and the offer of human warmth at night, but his destiny lay elsewhere, not in hiding on the Isle with a beautiful woman and forgetting the world outside. Nimmue had understood, but had wept as he left and watched him go with pitying eyes, knowing the path that lay before him and mourning for him. Leaving her was the most difficult and painful experience of his young life, but he had to press onward, to what he did not know.

Twas not long before he found another teacher in the form of a traveling rogue by the name of Gwaine, a friendly and fun loving swordsman who taught Harry to smile again, to take some pleasure in the little things which life provides. He had reminded Harry strongly of Sirius, down to the careless elegance and roguish grin that charmed the maidens. They became fast friends and traveled together for half a year, Gwaine teaching him how to hold and use a sword properly so that he didn't embarrass himself if he had to fight. Though Gwaine had never said a word on the subject, Harry had the distinct feeling his friend had known about his magic but had proved his gallantry in remaining safely silent. They had shared jugs of wine, bar wenches, and trained together in the days leading up to the tavern nights. Gwaine had become the brother he had always wanted, they had both despised Uther and his laws yet admirably his friend had never let the King get to him. 'I will not compromise my honor for a man bereft of it' were his words.

Eventually, Harry had to leave Gwaine, too. His friend had understood, smiling in that way of his and wishing him the best of luck in life. The two had promised to remain friends, then had gone their separate ways, sad but comforted by the thought that whatever else may happen they had a friend in the world. Harry had once again dressed in the chain mail and black tunic of Sir Hadrian, wearing it like a mask as he neared the land of his hated enemy: Camelot. Something drew him there against his will and desire to remain far away. It called to him during his sleep, waking him and keeping him awake to the point of madness where he no longer could tell what was real and what were tricks of the mind. It was only when he rode into town on his black war horse and booked a room at the local tavern that he was allowed rest.

SCENE BREAK

"Milord?" A rapping came at the door, dragging Harry from his deep sleep. He groaned loudly, turning over in the lumpy bed and throwing the feathered pillow over his head so as to better block out the unholy sound that drew him from his lovely sleep. The knocking came again, louder than before. A flash of annoyance shot through him and he growled lowly to himself in frustration, vainly trying to sleep through the racket. "Milord?"

"Come in." He managed to say without too much anger, dragging himself up and propping his back against the pillow. His thin body had filled out the promise of his broad shoulders with whipcord muscle covering his frame with a wide chest that came from long hours of training with Gwaine. A pretty bar maid hesitantly entered the room, blushing and ducking her head at the sight of his half naked body. Yawning, Harry ran his hands through his thick black hair. It was the first time in weeks that his long hair was out of it's typical braids that kept it out of his eyes, but then it was also the first chance he had to wash it in weeks, too. "Yes?"

"Milord, the King wishes for me to give you this." She said timidly, handing him a scroll with the waxen royal seal binding it. He nodded absently as he took it, laying it on the rickety table beside his bed. "Shall I run a bath for you, milord?"

"Yes, please." He smiled thankfully, all too eager to enjoy another hot bath. Weeks and months on the road gathering rank rilth and travel dust had taught him the true value of a good bath, especially one with pine scented water as the ones offered at the tavern inn. He bent over the side of the bed and grabbed his purse then withdrew two copper pieces that he tossed to the maid. She caught them dextrously, surprising him for a moment. She would have been an excellent seeker had she been born a witch in his time. "Thank you."

"No trouble at all." She smiled at him, her hand waving for a moment before she turned red then left to fetch the water. Strange girl, that one. What was her name? Betty, Berry? Blast, he was terrible with names.

He broke the seal and unraveled the scroll, reading it idly. Harry was still tired so it took a moment for the words to register. Apparently, the King had learned of an unknown knight's arrival in Camelot and invited him to join in the tournament. It was a mix of challenges: jousting, melee, and archery, the usual tournament games with feasting and entertainment for the ever interested masses. Tiredly, he tossed it back down and leaned back against his pillow. As much as he detested Uther, the prize money was tempting to him. Before his arrival, he had little use or desire to use money. He always had enough for what he desired so it gold had never seemed that important to him, but in this time, he had learned the value of the mighty coin and how one could starve to death without it's aid.

Not only that, but after spending over a year wandering and learning with Gwaine, Harry was tired of moving around. He wanted to settle somewhere and for that he required money to purchase land, a house, and some sort of business to keep it all going. A noble he might be in the mind of the people, but he had no land and no taxes to collect for his coffers, so he was one in name only if not in deed. Still, he also wanted to be as far away from Uther Pendragon as he could possibly be. Just the thought of that monster made him murderous and he seriously doubted that he could keep his hate off of his face should they meet. He was no Slytherin, he had no mind for mind games and Machiavellian schemes. All he wanted was a good place to sleep that was warm until he found a way to return home, yet he had the nagging feeling that he should attend this tournament, even if it meant coming face to face with the one person that he hated more than Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Milord?" The maid's soft voice questioned, causing Harry to snap his head toward her with alarm. He must be tired if he didn't hear her entering. The girl stood there awkwardly, a pitcher of some sort of drink in her hand. "Would you care for tea before your bath?"

"I'd be delighted. Thank you." He smiled at her, trying to emulate Gwaine's infamous smile that had charmed the skirts off of more than one so-called maiden. It must have worked because the girl turned beet red and shuffled over, setting down a rough wooden goblet before filling it with a strong smelling tea. Nearly as soon as she pulled the pitcher away, he grabbed the goblet and gulped it down ignoring the searing heat. He finished it and held it out, keeping a polite smile on his face. If there was one thing he had learned from Dobby, then it was to treat all servants politely and with respect. They are the ones you relied on, after all. She poured him another goblet full of tea and he drank it down just as quickly, giving a satisfied sigh and a quick thankful smile to the girl who left quickly with an odd embarrassed rush. Idly, he wondered where that reaction was when he needed a date for the Yule Ball back in Fourth Year. It would have been so very helpful.

He made his way to the washing room and took a long bath, taking the time to thoroughly enjoy the scrubbing and warm water. The night before he had merely focused on getting clean and somewhat good smelling, but now he leisurely cleaned himself. When he returned to his room, he discovered much to his surprise that his black tunic and cape was clean with the smell of a fresh washing while his chain mail and the bit of place armor for the chest, shoulders, and arms were shining brightly with a fresh polishing. He searched his purse and pulled out four coppers which he placed on the bedside table for the serving girl. She was an excellent maid, he did have to admit. He dressed quickly, having grown used to dressing himself in armor without the aid of another though it was not as neat as if it were done by a servant.

Harry checked out with the inn keeper and a serving boy fetched his massive black horse, it was a parting gift from Nimmue not unlike the Druid tattoos that his armor hid. He had named the stallion Hermes after his friend Hermione since his horse was entirely too clever and seemed to enjoy making a fool out of him at times, particularly around pretty girls. He had wondered whether that was Nimmue's doing or just a quirk of the horse itself. He had no idea where to go for the tournament sign up, but luckily Hermes seemed to know the way as he pranced along with his tail up, showing off to all of the mares on the way. Less than half an hour later, Harry found the arena and the waiting line. Within ten minutes, he was at the front of the line looking down on a singularly bored old man.

"Name, family, title?" The man 'requested' with the most drolling tone, reminding Harry strongly of Professor Binns. Harry wetted his lips and pulled to mind the false history he had made. "And proof of nobility."

"Hadrian of the Blacks, Lord of Blackwood, bannerman to the late Duke Gorlois of Cornwall." He stated with all the regality that he could summon, mentally thanking Gwaine for helping him iron out the details. Gwaine was a noble himself though he hid it and his father Lot had served the late Duke Cornwall and rode with him into battle, regretfully he had also followed the man into his final battle where both had perished. Gwaine had been certain that none would catch the deception since most of those lands were overrun by bandits, raiders, and slavers. No thanks to Uther. He reached into his saddlebag and withdrew the enchanted ring Nimmue had crafted for him that displayed a white dragon in an infinity circle on a black background. "My signet."

"Welcome to Camelot, Sir Hadrian." The elderly man said finally, after carefully inspecting the silver ring. He noted that he wasn't called 'lord' due to the fact that 'his lands' were overrun and had forfeited their fiefdom. "What event or events will you be competing in?"

"Jousting and the melee." Harry replied shortly, his silver visored helm with the long black plume held under his left arm. His armor was enchanted to be stronger and magic protected the places vulnerable to splintered lances while his sword was bespelled to always keep it's edge. The old man nodded, jotting down the necessary information on the parchment with his quill.

"Very good, then. The tournament begins two hours after dawn. If you are not present, you will forfeit your right to compete. The rules are the standard tournament rules: the intentional harming of a horse is punishable by immediate dishonorable disqualification, should His Royal Highness decree for the fighting to stop then you shall immediately stand down, all daggers or hidden knives are forbid, and attacking the competition before tournament begins is also punishable by immediate disqualification." The man recited and Harry couldn't imagine a man who sounded more bored than the one before him. "Do you understand these rules and accept the consequences for breaking them?"

"I do." Harry nodded.

"Then may God be with you, Sir Knight." The old man said, waving him off and gesturing for the next contestant to come forward.

SCENE BREAK

Harry was not nervous. Not in the slightest. And no, his heart was no beating so quickly it seemed as though it would break his chest open and dance in front of his body. Not at all. No, it was the anticipation of battle that gripped him. Not fear. Or so he tried to convinced himself. In truth, he was terrified. He was going into battle, even if it were a tournament, in front of Uther Pendragon and the Knights of Camelot. One slip up and he would be roasting on an open fire like chestnuts at Christmas. Where was a Horntail when you needed one?

"Next match: Sir Hadrian of the Blacks vs. Sir Gregor of Falmouth!" The Announcer called, causing Harry to gulp as he placed his plumed helmet upon his head and fiddled with the chin strap until it was secure. He took a deep breath, adjusted his cloak, then strode out onto the field with far more confidence than he felt. Training with Gwaine was one thing, actual battle was another thing entirely. He wouldn't be aiming to kill, but he couldn't say the same for any of his opponents.

As he stepped out onto the field, cheers rose up around him from the masses but they brought no confidence to his heart. Most of these people would cheer just as loudly should he be burned at the stake for sorcery. His emerald eyes gazed about, drawn to the throne where Uther Pendragon sat observing the tournament grounds imperiously with a pleasant little half smile as though he wasn't a mass murderer. When his eyes moved a bit to the left, they froze as they landed on the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen. His breath caught in his throat and his heart thumped with an emotion much different than fear. She was stunning with alabaster skin and glossy black hair, her dress revealed just a bit of tantalizing cleavage that made his blood heat up in his veins. She was, dare he say, far more attractive than any Veela and carried a dark tone that made his pulse quicken.

Her face may as well have been chiseled from marble and loving crafted by the hand of a master sculptor as his life's work, a masterpiece of women. He could barely make out her eyes, a flashing combination of green and gray that seemed wintery yet burning. Harry had never felt lust so strongly for a woman before, not even Fleur or the Veela at the World Cup had elicited a response even half of what he currently felt. It was more than wanting her, it was like he needed her and ached for her from nothing but a glance. He could swear there was dragon within his chest, writhing and roaring for her as though she was the greatest prize in all the lands. Harry wanted to be possess her, to keep her for his own and his alone. She turned those eyes on him, then cocked her head slightly to the side as a slight frown creased her pale brow.

"Eyes on your opponent, boy!" Sir Gregor roared, swinging a truly massive sword at Harry's head that the distracted boy barely ducked and felt the blade touch the black plume of his helmet as he unsheathed his word, tossing away the scabbard. Gwaine's training took over, thinking for Harry as the boy tried to get his mind off of the enchanting woman. Sir Gregor was a giant, easily two heads higher than Harry and three times as wide. He felt like he was fighting the muggle equivalent of Hagrid, each parry caused his bones to ring like his sword from the force of the blows delivered.

Harry remained quiet, dodging the next strike clumsily as he wasn't used to fighting in full armor since he and Gwaine trained without them. He slashed wildly at Sir Gregor and took the offensive, swinging his sword haphazardly as he began to deceive his opponent. Gwaine had taught him that it was best to let one enemy's underestimate him, so that was what he was doing, acting far more inexperienced and unskilled than he was. Sir Gregor took the bait, going on the defense for a while before shifting into a beserker-like offense comprised of bone shattering blows of immense strength. Harry ducked and pivoted, dancing around the blade as much as he was able in the heavy armor. Soon, he saw his opening. Sir Gregor expected him to keep ducking, so he was thrown off balance by the sudden clang of Harry's sword blocking his own then Harry took advantage of the shock to twist around, landing a blow on his opponent's exposed back followed by a shoulder shove to knock him down.

"Yield." Sir Hadrian ordered, the tip of his sword aim at the base of Sir Gregor's skull. The large man stopped moving for a moment, no doubt thinking about whether escape was possible then dropped his sword, acknowledging defeat. Harry sighed in relief and removed his helmet, shaking his head to free up his hair. Sweat was pouring down his face and he was breathing heavily, yet he offered a hand to the downed Sir Gregor. "My compliments to your strength, friend."

Sir Gregor said nothing and refused his hand, then stomped off the field like spoiled brat. Harry watched him go with narrowed eyes, then he became aware of the loud cheering surrounding him as the audience sheered loudly. He smiled weakly and waved a hand halfheartedly at the masses as he made his way to where the refreshment tent was at, determined to enjoy a long drink of wine. He would have preferred fresh water, but alas most of the water considered fit to drink was not even clear in this day and age.

SCENE BREAK

Harry leaned against the corridor wall, letting the cool stone soothe him as he tried his best to get his thoughts straight. He was about to walk straight into the lion's den. After his show earlier in the day, he had been 'cordially invited' to attend the feast. As much as he would love to decline the invitation, he knew it would look suspicious and that Uther would take it as a personal affront which was why Harry was in the corridor stalling for all that he was worth. How could he walk up to the man he so hated and smile at him? It would be like hugging Voldemort, completely awkward and really, really weird. Besides, he was certain that Uther would know his feelings as soon as they came face to face. One does not miss abject loathing.

On the other hand, it was a chance to meet the girl he saw at the tournament. As much as he would like to play to gallant knight and sweep her off of her feet, the reality was that he was more likely to make a fool of himself than win any hearts. He wasn't Gwaine. It was times like these that he wished he had paid more attention to Arthurian Legend, but as it was, all he knew was that there was a great king named Arthur who had a very powerful wizard named Merlin to help him out. That was the extent of his knowledge. He was really wishing that he hadn't been content to let Hermione be the smart one and had studied a bit on his own.

"Are you alright, Sir Knight?" A girl's gentle voice pierced his brooding thoughts, causing him to open his startling green eyes. There was a pretty dark skinned girl who seemed to exude kindness and sweetness. She had an aura to her that made him smile. Judging by her dress, he guessed that she was one of the royal servants which spoke well of her competence. "Milord?"

"Oh, oh I'm fine. Just a bit...terrified." He admitted with tight smile, running his hand through his hair then frowning as his hand got stuck in his Celtic braids. Harry tried to play it off as coolly as he could, but judging by her hidden smile, he guessed that it wasn't as cool as he wanted. "I'm not very good at parties. I get nervous and sweaty, then bad stuff happens and I step on toes."

"Come now, it can't be that bad?" She asked, a bit of a giggle in her voice that said she didn't even believe her own words. He blushed in embarrassment. "Even if you are a bit, well, awkward you are still dashing enough to get by."

"Are you joking? I stutter, I shake, it's not a pretty sight. I'd rather have your job than have to go socialize with those vultures and make a fool of myself." Harry told her, once again smiling when she laughed at him. There was something very warm about the girl that put him at ease, kind of like Hermione just not as bossy or judging.

"You just need a bit of coaching, that's all." She told him kindly, adjusting his clasp and straightening his black cape with the dragon stitched on the breast. Thankfully, he didn't have to wear the plate armor but he was still stuck wearing the pinching chain mail. "Here, stand up straight, yes that's it, shoulders back now, and chin up. You fought well today, be proud of yourself and show it to everyone. In my experience, nobles are like wolves: one sign of weakness and they'll tear you apart."

"Thanks, um..." Harry trailed, realizing that he didn't know her name.

"Gwen, I'm the Lady Morgana's maid." She informed him, bowing a bit. Gwen rather liked the newcomer, he didn't act arrogant like most of the nobles and he seemed a good sort if a bit on the timid side.

"Sir Hadrian at your service, my lady, but my friends just call me Harry." He grinned warmly in greeting, surprised to find to himself genuinely liking the maid.

"Well, 'Harry', you had best go inside. You don't want to offend the King with tardiness, trust me on this." Gwen advised, shooing him off. He nodded and began to walk back down the corridor then stopped and turned to face her again.

"Thank you, Gwen. It was nice meeting you." He said, shocking her since so few nobles ever thank servants. With that he headed toward the Great Hall, practicing a proud stride as he did so in order to get in character. He tried to get in acting an unobtrusively as possible, but did not know that they announce every newcomer...loudly.

"Announcing Sir Hadrian of the Blacks, Lord of Blackwood, Son of James, Bannerman to Cornwall." The steward stated in such a loud tone that Harry wanted to wince, particularly when every face in the hall turned toward him. He felt like a deer caught in headlights and knew he must have looked similar, but he quickly tried to put an emotionless mask on his face, though whether he suceeded or not was something he was ignorant of. He strode forward, hoping it looked confident and powerful as opposed to nervous shuffling. The faces of hundreds seemed to blend into one mass of arrogance, pride, and greed, but he ignored all of that as best he could and faced forward, looking straight at the smug face of Uther Pendragon. Just when Harry was afraid his mask would let slip his hate, he turned his eyes to the next person.

It was her, the beautiful girl from area clothed in a scandalous red dress that bordered on the indecent for the times. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her. She was eating a strawberry and Harry had never wanted to be a fruit so much in his life from the way she suckled it, pale pink lips wrapping around it's red flesh then a flash of healthy sharp teeth as she bit into it with an almost sadistic pleasure. She was watching him with those mysterious eyes, an odd look in them as though she was both pleased to see him and trying to figure out a puzzle. It sent shivers running down his spine in such a way that he couldn't figure out whether it was bad or very good. Either way, it inflamed him and he could feel the blood rushing to his face turning it warm and hot.

"M-my lady." He stuttered a bit, mentally calling himself an idiot as he bowed to her. She returned it with a slight curtsey, holding out her hand. He stared at the back of her lily white hand for a moment then remembered the custom, so he leaned forward and pecked the back of it. Her eyes gleamed curiously. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

"Thank you, Sir Hadrian. Did I hear correctly that your family owed allegiance to Cornwall?" She asked, her voice as sinful as it was smooth. He swallowed, but nodded dutifully. "Then your father...James must have served my father Gorlois?"

"Yes, my lady. Served him, fought for him, and lay beside him at the end." He answered as calmly as was possible for a blushing young lad in the presence of a beautiful girl. His mind raced with the back story he had created for himself. "Gorlois saved my father's life a dozen times over. I'm not the knight my father was, but I hope to return the favor to you, Lady Morgana."

"Interesting." She smiled, plucking another strawberry and bringing it up to her well shaped mouth that seemed designed for sensuality. Her eyes were not as coy as her behavior, no, they were cold and curious and a dozen other dangerous things yet there was an odd desperation there that he scarcely recognized. Those eyes flashed at him as they bit down viciously on the strawberry in a way that nearly made him wince, but his shudder was not so well concealed and her eyes gleamed again. A delicate hand reached into the few folds of her red dress, moving slowly in such a way that his eyes followed it's path down her breasts to her stomach then to her full hips before she withdrew a red handkerchief. After a moment, she offered it to him, "Win this tournament for me and we will see what use I may have for you."

"I will do my best, my lady." He managed to say, grateful that it sounded sure. He took her handkerchief and tied it to his bicep as tradition dictated. Harry had no idea of the significance of the action, but Morgana did and her eyes flashed once more. They followed the strange knight for the rest of the evening.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Some people have said that Harry is acting like a moron. Surprise! People act like idiots all the time, especially when they are socially awkward teenagers face to face with the prettiest girl they have ever seen. Also, some have said that Harry would never be controlled by his hate. Well, he's not. Harry hates Uther, but he isn't exactly casting the Cruciatus Curse on the man or currently plotting to kill him (though if the oppertunity were to present itself...) therefore he has no lost control of himself due to that hate. He hates him because this guy is Hitler to him and Harry is the Jew, so I seriously doubt that Harry would be all 'he's a good king, just a mass murderer to my people whom I have personally watched burn children alive'.

Newsflash people, that is an evil king. Uther is evil, the fact he has redeeming traits just makes it worse because he can feel guilt and knows right from wrong. It's like saying that Hitler was a good ruler apart from the genocide i.e. WRONG! I won't write 'super cool, flawless, Jesus-like compassionate' people because people aren't like that and Harry sure as hell ain't. Now, don't get me wrong, Harry is a nice guy, but everyone has limits and it stands to reason that burning children at the stake because they are like Harry himself (therefore parodying the Dursleys in the worst possible way) crosses the line of things he can forgive, particularly if he saw people cheering it on. I sure as hell wouldn't have compassion for those kinds of people. They deserve to die and, since nobody else is doing anything, it's time to step on up for the sake of those yet to be burned at the stake.

Is that clear enough? The history of the world isn't people getting along and forgiving one another, I feel sorry for you if you believe that it is. Fighting against a man who is litterally wiping your people from existence one fire at a time is not wrong, it's right. I don't care if his son is a nice guy, the man himself needs to go. Morgana's cause was just, it was her methods that were questionable (along with her sanity in later seasons).

For the anonymous reviewer known as Guest: Cannon Harry never saw people being burned alive at the stake (children for crying out loud!) for having magic. I imagine he would be very pissed off and hate the person responsible. If Harry was willing to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix (sucessfully in Alecto Carrow's case once he knew what to do) for killing Sirius then what do you think he would do to someone burning little kids alive by the thousands? Duh! I mean, would you like Uther or feel anything for him other than a hate so powerful it physically hurt? I'd personally kill the piece of shit, even if I died doing it. In short, logic renders your argument invalid.

My rant is now over, please enjoy the story and kindly review if you like it.

SCENE BREAK

"Ready to taste the earth, Sir Hadrian?" Prince Arthur taunted, a cocky smirk on his face that annoyed Harry with it's resemblance to Draco Malfoy. The blond haired knight frowned at Harry's shield suspciously, "You don't have an enchanted shield, do you? I mean, the dragon isn't going to come alive, is it?"

"Not to my knowledge. Just good old fashioned steel." Harry told him, tapping the shield with his sword. "You know, you remind me of someone. He was a real ass."

"Are we going to actually fight or just stand here talking?" Arthur returned with annoyance, expertly spinning his sword in hand. Despite his words, there was a challenging smirk on his face that told Harry that the Prince lived for this. It made him nervous, to be honest. This was Arthur's realm, his Quidditch. "Not scared, are you?"

Instead of replying, Harry struck out at him with his sword only for Arthur to parry it easily and dance back a bit. Harry kept his shield up and crouched over slightly, his sword pointed forward on top of his shield as he advanced on the Champion of Camelot. Arthur landed an overhead blow on his shield causing Harry to shove his shield forward hoping to catch his opponent off balance, but Arthur returned the favor, sucessfully slamming his own shield into Harry's helmet sending him staggering back. Arthur went for a strong sweep, but Harry dodged to the left and lunged forward, his sword aimed at his opponent's heart. Arthur leaned back just enough to avoid the stab, bringing his sword around with a twist of the wrist to knock Harry's blade upward. Harry surprised him with a kick to the stomach, avenging the blow he took earlier and leaped at Arthur while the Prince stumbled, yet again Arthur was saved by his shield before he went on the offensive.

Harry blocked the blows and tried to dodge the sloppier swings, making sure to keep moving just as Gwaine had taught him to do. He decided to remain on the defensive and wear Arthur out, not knowing that Arthur was trained for endurance and strength in addition to finesse. He blocked, parried, and kicked, keeping Arthur back as much as possible. His opponent was clearly the more skilled warrior, but Harry had never let a superior opponent deter him. His magic was there, tempting him to use it to even the odds in his favor yet he resisted. It was only a tournament, even if Morgana was watching Harry, he refused to cheat. Winning wasn't worth compromising his honor. His arms were taking one hell of a pounding, however, and he knew a trip to the local blacksmith would be necessary after the fight. They fought back forth, Arthur the aggresser and Harry on the defensive.

A high slash made Harry block the sword with his own, then Arthur suprised him by punching him in the face with hilt, knocking Harry onto his back. Knowing that he had little time, Harry kicked Arthur's feet out from under him and rolled onto his knees before swinging his sword down with all of his strength, only to freeze inches from Arthur's helmet as he felt something tap against his breastplate. Looking down, he saw Arthur's sword going across his chest in a diagonal line from his left shoulder to his right hip in a picture perfect slash. Harry glanced down at Arthur and saw the fierce look on his opponent's face. With a frustrated sigh, Harry dropped his sword and stood up. He offered his hand to Arthur who stared at it for a long moment then he gave Harry a nod of respect and a smile as he took the offered hand.

"You know, you're not half bad." Arthur told him with a hint of respect, a half-smile still on his face as he dusted himself off. Harry was panting far heavier than Arthur, having trained for speed over endurance therefore he was in a worse condition. "Come by the training yard sometime. I could use a sparring partner who is halfway decent."

"Thanks...I think." Harry managed to pant out, frowning at the wording. He wondered whether he should feel insulted or not, but he had the distinct feeling that it was just Arthur's way. "Was that a compliment?"

"Of course not." Arthur denied immediately, waving to the roaring crowd with a smile and shaking his fists triumphantly. The man might be a prat, but he really knew how to work up a crowd, Harry thought to himself. After a long moment, Arthur grasped Harry's shoulder, "C'mon, we have to accept the reward."

"But, didn't I lose?" Harry asked, confused. He looked up to where Uther and, more importantly to Harry, Morgana stood applauding the two combatants. To his surprise, Morgana was smiling at him as she clapped vigorously.

"What on earth am I going to do with another thousand gold pieces? This makes the third year in a row that I've won." Arthur announced grandly, still eating up the attention of his people while Harry still frowned. Arthur noticed his confusion, "Do I have to spell it out for you, Hadrian? The gold is your's. Just don't spend it all in one place or, if you do, make sure it's in Camelot."

"One thousand..." Harry trailed off, thinking that much gold could almost pay off Gwaine's tab or at the very least his Irish tab. "I think that I have to sit down..."

"Oh no, you don't. You are not going to pass out in front of all these people!" Arthur whispered fiercely, grabbing Harry's arm before dragging him up toward the Royal Seating Area. "Besides, you want to look good for Morgana, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry questioned, his face heating up. He hoped that the evidence of the fight hid his embarassment. However, this was in vain.

"Hadrian, I've known Morgana all of my life and she has never, not even once, showed an interest in anyone and yet she gave you her handkerchief!" Arthur told him quietly, but intensely, staring him in the eyes as if judging his character. "I don't know how it is where you're from, but in Camelot, that means something. She's all but chosen you as her champion. You represented her in this tournament and you did the best anyone could do when up against someone of god-like skill and blinding good looks such as myself."

"Has anyone ever told you that you have an ego?" Harry asked wryly, stopping as he realized that he was insulting one of the few people with the power to burn him at the stake. Still, he refused to take his words back.

"Morgana does so daily." Arthur sighed tiredly, looking a bit annoyed and embarassed though he hid it well. "My incompetent servant does so as well."

"Must be true then." Harry commented, before summoning all of the courage and pride that he could find in himself as he stepped onto the platform that led to Uther Pendragon. As they reached the platform itself, Arthur knelt before the King. Gritting his teeth and hating every second, Harry did likewise and knelt in front of his enemy. Harry had never bowed to anyone before, not to Voldemort or anyone else and it stung his pride severely. He glared at Uther for a long moment behind the protection of his helm then pasted a calm look over his face as he lifted off his helmet, laying it beside him.

"It gives me great pleasure and pride to announce Prince Arthur Pendragon as the reigning Champion of Camelot and all of it's people." Uther said clearly with all regality, lifting up a small sword made of gold before presenting it to Arthur. Arthur accepted the sword with a smile, sharing a moment of mutual respect with his father then Uther turned to Harry. "Sir Hadrian of the Blacks, though I am unfamiliar with you, you have fought gallantly and with skill befitting your rank as a Knight so it gives me great honor to present to you one thousand gold pieces in recognition of your ferocity and bravery. Stand and be recognized!"

Sir Hadrian stood, accepting the heavy bag and raised it into the air for the cheering crowd mimicing Arthur who was doing the same. As he turned away from the crowd, his unnatural green eyes caught the icy orbs of the Lady Morgana and he froze. She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze cold and judging as she gazed at him then she allowed a small smile onto her alabastor face that softened and warmed her expression. He gave a timid smile in reply. As Uther turned back, Morgana's smile turned proud and she gave Harry an arrogant nod as though she herself had won the tournement. It disappeared as soon as Uther was no longer looking, replaced by a calculating stare that seemed strangely...predatory.

SCENE BREAK

The Lady Morgana stood at her window, staring down at the courtyard below where the Knights were training. Her cool eyes followed the sparring between Arthur and the eye catching newcomer Sir Hadrian, watching them dance back and forth. She wanted to be there, training alongside the men and sparring against Sir Hadrian just so she could figure him out a bit easier. Truly, Sir Hadrian was mysterious. From his thick black hair to his striking green eyes, from the proud stride to the nervous shuffling, he was peculiar in every sense of the word. "Such a strange man."

"Milady?" Gwen looked up, having been straightening her mistress' bed. She walked over to join Morgana at the window and peered down at the training grounds. An impish smile crept onto her dark face as she spotted the handsome Knight fighting with the Prince. "Sir Hadrian, m'lady?"

"Yes, Sir Hadrian." Morgana said the name slowly, her eyes narrowing at the man. Bannerman to her father, so he said. Morgana could not recall the name Black among her father's ledgers nor did she recall any vassals of that name visiting from when she was a girl. It made her suspicous and heightened her curiosity. She considered herself very knowledgable when it came to her father's estate and business affairs. It was true, of course, that she could have simply overlooked the name but not likely given that Sir Hadrian seemed stalwart that his father James had died alongside her own. "I don't trust him."

"And yet you favor him." Gwen pointed out, causing a flash of annoyance to go through Morgana at the true statement. Morgana turned her head away and lifted her nose up, snorting in disdain as if to counter Gwen's words. It made the handmaiden smile, though she hid it behind her hand. "I have seen many suitors come to the castle for your hand and each one you turned away without the slightest hesitation, but this man you encouraged, milady."

"All of those suitors were arrogant pigs, only interested in what my hips could birth for them and what my wealth would buy for them." She spat out hatefully, an ugly sneer marring her beautiful features as if a devil had risen up inside of her. "Sir Hadrian is, if nothing else, easy on the eyes though he is a bit...twitchy."

"Considering that scene with the strawberry, I'd say he had good reason. No offence meant to my lady, of course." Gwen added huriedly, blushing a bit and wondering if she had gone a bit too far in her familiarity. Morgana shot her a hard look for a moment to remind her servant of her place, but hid her pleased smile when she turned her head. She was quite glad of her power over men and very much enjoyed watching them squirm, particularly those she had a 'slight' interest in and liked to test. "Sir Hadrian seems a good sort. He is a bit shy, but very kind."

"We'll see. If he is everything you seem to think he is, then perhaps I'll allow him to represent me in further tournements." Morgana allowed, thinking over the situation. "But remember, there have been hundreds of men over the years seeking my hand, my lands, and my gold. I refuse to be fooled or tricked into marriage by the first Knight with a handsome face. Sir Hadrian will just have to prove that he is both sincere and true in his gallantry."

"And how will he do that, milady?" Gwen asked, keeping her smile hidden. The newest male had her lady in fits, scheming over his attributes and eying him so suspicously. She had never seen Morgana give any thought over a man, beyond how to best tease them, yet the new one she seemed keenly interested. Still, she could not picture Morgana as a demure or submissive wife. That made her pause. Morgana and marriage was an explosive combination to say the least.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something, Gwen." Morgana purred, a wicked smirk alighting her face as she stared down at Sir Hadrian. Idly, she ran her fingers over the glass through which she could see his form and dragged her nails lightly over the image. "Something very enlightening."

Gwen suddenly felt very sorry for Sir Hadrian.

SCENE BREAK

"Your armor should fixed by week's end, but your sword will be ready in three days." Leon Degrance, the local blacksmith, told Harry. The older dark skinned man rubbed his bristly chin, his intelligent brown eyes roaming over the sword carefully. "To be honest, it'd be cheaper for you to buy a new sword than repair this one. It's not very well made."

"What would it cost to commision a sword?" Harry asked, biting his lower lip. He did not want to get rid of his sword, it had served him well and was enchanted by the High Priestess herself, but Leon the Blacksmith was correct in his assessment that it was a cheap blade. Now that he had money perhaps it would be wise to invest in better equipment.

"Oh, well that depends on what sort of sword you'd like." Leon answered carefully, his dark eyes distant as he considered the request. "All of my swords are well crafted, I take great pride in my smithing and each would serve you well, but a custom sword would cost somewhere between ten to thirty gold pieces. Very expensive, I know, but I promise that you won't find better forged blades in Albion, milord."

"I see." Harry considered it, giving no reaction to the price even though he wanted to wince at the amount. He reached into his purse and counted out forty gold pieces then slid them across the table to Leon. "I want the best sword you can forge for me. I don't care what it looks like, just so long as it is reliable and can do it's job well. Take whatever liberties you desire in it's making."

"I will, milord. This will be one of the greatest blades I've ever forged, a sword fit for a king." Leon promised sincerely and his earnestness caused Harry to smile at the man. He seemed to be a good sort. "It will take time, even were I to put it before all of my other projects. A month, perhaps."

"That will be fine." Harry nodded, his eyes roving the room then stopped on the row of swords. "I may require a replacement until then."

"For an order as large as this one is, you may have one if you bring it back once the sword you commissioned is finished." Leon offered pleasantly. Forty gold coins was a good year's work or two years of poor work. It would feed Gwen and him well for at least a year, more if they managed it well. No more extra smoked pigeon for him or soups with more water than broth.

"Thank you." Harry said gratefully, standing up and approaching the rack. He tested the swords until he found one whose balance suited him, all the while Leon watched speculatingly as if calculating all of it into his future project. "This one will do."

Harry took his leave soon after, having made small talk with Leon. The man was very decent, he could see where Gwen got her compassion. It was oddly amusing that he had to go back to when witch burnings were common to find a muggle that he liked. He wandered about town, buying a few cloaks and tunics for all occasions while ordering tailored clothing for more grand affairs. For a moment, he considered visiting the tavern but dismissed the thought. Without Gwaine, going to a tavern just wasn't as fun. The man could liven up any party at any establishment all the while scoring plenty of alcohol, wenches, and a debt so deep that it seemed a bottomless pit. It was nearly afternoon when he spotted Gwen shopping for silks and decided to greet her.

"Hello, Gwen. It's good to see you again." Harry greeted with a smile, briskly kissing the back of her hand as was the custom before straightening. "I just came back from your father's shop. He does excellent work."

"Thank you, I'll be sure to pass your compliments onto him." Gwen returned his smile warmly, buying the blue length of silk cloth she had been inspecting. "I'm glad you stopped by. Lady Morgana has a message for you."

"Really? I didn't think that I made much of an impression." Harry mentioned, shrugging even though his every sense was focused on Gwen's next words. He was really beginning to grow annoyed by how easily the mention of Morgana's name could grab his attention. "She seemed very...stand-offish."

"Morgana is a very hard person to please." Gwen admitted, nodding her head. "But if you do manage to gain her trust then it's worth it. She'd do anything for a friend. She wants you to meet her near the training grounds in two hours."

"Did she say why?" Harry asked, frowning in thought as he tried to figure out why the unofficial Princess of Camelot wanted to see him. His libido told him one thing, but Harry's logical side pointed out the folly of a midnight romp, also the dangers involved.

"Nope, just that she wants you to meet her there." Gwen answered, but hesitated, "Though you may want to go armed. She can be a bit, err..."

"I get it." Harry nodded.

SCENE BREAK

Harry slowly walked toward the training grounds. His posture screamed relaxation and confidence, but beneath the surface his body was alive with suspicion. He couldn't figure Morgana out and until he did so, she was dangerous. His borrowed sword was at his side, safely inside the scratched black leather sheath that had carried his other sword. As much as he tried to tell himself that she was only a bored aristocrat, his instincts warned him that she was deadly and that there was something very off about the meeting. Gwen was a poor liar and she had not lied to him earlier, but who was to say she wasn't a puppet for her lady's manipulations?

"HELP! Somebody help me, please!" A woman screamed in such a piercing tone that Harry could feel it reverberate in his bones. Immediately, his sword was in his right hand and his left was undoing the clasp of his black cape. He let the cape fall to the dirt as he ran toward the screaming. "Please, don't, HELP!"

It wasn't until he made it to the woods near the training grounds that he realized who the screaming voice belonged to: Morgana. Somehow, he managed to push himself to run a bit faster even though he had been running as quickly as possible. Soon he burst into a clearing where there were eight men circling Morgana with daggers drawn and swords unsheathed, but what he noticed was that the shoulder of her dress had been ripped. The sight blurred with memories of similar scenes he had witnessed while traveling on the highways. With a growl, he punched the nearest bandit in the back of the head with a chainmail reinforced fist and lunged for Morgana.

He put his back to her, standing in front of her with his sword drawn like a sentinel. The bandit leader, or so he assumed, held up his hands in gesture to wait, "And the gallant knight comes to the maiden's rescue, eh boy? I'm feelin' a mite merciful. If you leave, we won't follow ya. Ain't got any grudge against ye. All we want is the girl."

Harry could feel Morgana's hands on his shoulders, clawed like a cat's and latched onto him just as tightly. He shifted his sword into a two handed grip and spread his feet a bit farther apart, but said nothing in reply. After a moment, the leader nodded to himself and signaled the attack, but before anyone could begin fighting Morgana spoke, "That's enough, Oswald."

"Alright, milady." The 'bandit' answered, bowing his head. The other 'bandits' sheathed their weapons and one went to help their unconcious comrade. Harry was confused by the sudden change of events, but understanding came to him when Morgana tossed a purse filled with clinking coins to the 'bandit leader'.

"You set me up?!" Harry yelled, whirling on the pleased Morgana. Anger pulsed through him at being manipulated, mixing with the humiliation that he was outsmarted by an obviously spoiled princess. "Don't you know that people could have been hurt? What if I killed that bandit instead of knocking him out?"

"Then the others would have had a larger percentage." Morgana answered uncaringly, unbothered by the possibility. The 'bandits' nodded aggreably at her words. She paused, staring at him as she realized that Hadrian really was bothered by what just happened. "They're just mercenaries, Sir Hadrian. This what they do, dying is just another part of their profession. Besides, I had to know."

"Know what?" Hadrian demanded, not seeing what could justify the death of a man or multiple men. Morgana did not like his tone and when she spoke next, her voice was as sharp as a razor's blade.

"Whether I could trust you! Do you have *any* idea how many men have lied to me, have tried to woo me? None of them would have died for me as you would have just now. They would have fled and left me to be raped to death just to save their stinking hides." She spat venomously, her eyes aflame with repressed anger and frustration. Morgana stormed up to him, her face mere inches from his own as she glared at up him. "I had to know if you were the same."

"I can understand your reasoning, but that doesn't make it right." Harry told her sternly, his unyielding green eyes boring into her grayish green orbs. "How many men might have died just so you could find out if I was trustworthy? Are the lives of those men worth nothing to you?"

"They're worth sixteen gold pieces to me...as a whole." Morgana replied icily, her teeth gritted as the conversation wasn't turning out the way she had planned. "Those men have fought for money before and I'd wager that they've lost members as well. Do you think that those mercenaries were paid to protect others? No, they were contracted for raiding and pillaging. Don't act high and mighty with me, Hadrian of the Blacks. I paid them, they survived, and now I know that you are trustworthy. No harm, no foul."

What could he say to that? He knew she wasn't a monster. Harry had seen her face during the executions, she was just as revolted by them as he was. She did cherish life, just not the lives of these men and, really, could he blame her? Harry sighed, taking a moment to calm himself and collect his thoughts before replying, "Don't you ever do that again, Lady Morgana. Next time, the people you manipulate may not have souls as stained as their's. Next time, it could be an innocent."

"I'm not a fool, Hadrian. Never think that I did not check every little fact before hand or that I did not know the character of the men I hired." Morgana answered swiftly, her eyes a bit more understanding and softer now that the heat had gone from his voice. It was at that moment that Harry realized something about her: she always gave tit for tat, if one spoke to her angrily then she would be angry in turn. Her pride would accept no less. The more heated a conversation, the more hateful she would become, but react with understanding and soft words then her anger lost it's hold. "Besides, if I had been just a little further from Camelot it might not have been an act at all. They were hardly honorable and they knew I had their payment on me."

"I think it best if you headed back to the castle now, my lady." Harry said stiffly, hiding the flash of fear that went through him at the thought of her left alone with those mercenaries. His heart was just beginning to calm down from the fight. He held out a hand which she took, but he used the grip to yank her closer to him. Her startled eyes, devoid of the control and power high from earilier, stared up at him. "Kindly don't anything like that again. You may not always be so protected."

Morgana ignored him for a moment and walked past him, but then she turned with an almost savage smile, "I guess you will just have to make sure of that yourself, won't you? I've been told that I can be a bit reckless at times. We'll see if you're up to the challenge."

SCENE BREAK

Harry gulped down the tankard of mead and sat the empty wodden goblet onto the bar of the Golden Tavern. He sighed, rubbing his face and pushing his hair out of his eyes. The incident earlier in the day had left him feeling quite parched and in need of relaxation, so he had revised his earlier idea of visiting the local tavern. The mead at the Golden Tavern was quite horrible and he doubted whether it was mead at all, but after the day he had Harry found himself caring only about the alcohol content of the drink as opposed to the drink itself.

"Another, deary?" A buxom red haired waitress asked pleasantly, holding a large clay jug of whatever they called mead here. She was quite beautiful, if a bit past her prime and vaguely reminded him of Madam Rosmerta.

"Please." He answered with a polite smile, holding out his goblet. She expertly poured the drink with the graceful movements of long years of practice. Her bosum was nearly exposed, barely contained as it was by her threadbare red dress and tight corset, but his eyes remained on the scratched counter top, seeing only images from earlier in the day.

"There ye go, now if you need anything just give a call to ole Missy, eh?" She smiled at him flirtaciously, then turned to serve the other customers with a bit of disappointment. Harry gave a nod to her, then went back to his drink with frown.

Morgana. She was the most infuriating, spoiled, hard headed woman he had ever met and that was saying something considering the people he had met, but the most aggravating thing was that he knew that he had heard her name before, just not where or why. He wondered if he had known her name before leaving his time, that maybe time was protecting itself or something along those lines. More than likely, he just fell asleep during that particular History class. Still, he had to admit she was beautiful and was very unlike most of the women of the time. Morgana was challenging, bold, strong, independant even by modern standards. Contrary-wise, she had also shown herself to manipulative, apathetic, and too clever by far.

Yep, she was dangerous, but like a poisonous flower it seemed she was made even more beautiful by her deadliness. She, quite frankly, was a frightening woman unlike any he had ever met. With Nimmue, Harry had at least understood her and where they stood with one another, but with Morgana everything was confusing. She made him feel so...vulnerable, like he was on a small fishing boat in the center of a hurricane. No control. Morgana was too beautiful, too clever, and had far too much of a hold on him for someone he had just met. She was supposed to just be his way into Camelot, a way of legitamising himself as both a Knight and a Noble. Instead, she had become something else and he had no idea as to what.

It all made no sense. He was the sorcerer, the knight, the man from the future with knowledge on that which was yet to come, but she confused things for him, muddled it all up, and...he liked it. He didn't know why, but he did and the more he saw of her the stronger the hold on him became. Contrary-wise, he knew that if he left Camelot then he'd never escape her. She was just that sort of a woman, the kind that no amount of distance could lesson her effect. He wanted to protect her, even hold her and sooth all of her fears, yet everything inside of him told him that he shouldn't. Who was she? Why did she mean so much? It was not logical, it made no sense whatsoever. Why did a simple look mean more to him than a dozen passionate nights spent with Nimmue?

It made no sense!

SCENE BREAK

Morgana tossed and turned in her sleep restlessly. Her eyes fluttered behind their pale lids, the long dark eyelashes flickering like the wings of an angry hornet. A grimace twisted her lips, showing the dream was far from pleasant. Her whimpers added to the evidence, small noises that sounded as helpless and worried as a small puppy's. Her long delicate seeming fingers were clawed, the sharp nails digging into the silky fabric of her sheet.

**She could see a boy, very young of age. He looked to be twelve or nearing that, but seemed so very familiar. Bright green eyes, short messy black hair made slick with sweat, and a pale cherubic face with the rounded cheeks of childhood. He wore strange round spectacles over his eyes, those familiar eyes. The boy's face was grim and covered with darkened smudges of soot, yet he still walked forward, cautiously and carefully. Strangely, every time there was a movement on the corners of his vision the boy shut his unusual eyes tightly as though fearing what he may see.**

**He was in a cave of some sort, filled with long gleaming fang-like stones growing from the ceiling and floor. The walls were black or so dark a gray that they were nearly so, dripping with water and giving them a slick appearance that put her more in mind with the slime of a toad or some sort of reptile. He was dress strangely, wearing robes like the druids but oddly fashioned trousers and a heavily starched shirt with a length of red and gold colored scarf-like material hung about his neck like a noose. There was some kind of gray armor on his chest that looked like chainmail, yet was soft like wool. **

**What was a little boy, a child, doing in such a place? It looked like the sort of place that Arthur or one of the knights would sent to on a quest which begged the question: who would send a boy on such a dangerous mission? The way that the boy crouched, moving carefuly yet with a strange confidence reminded her of Arthur when he was in the middle of a fight. Why was a boy so at ease with danger? It wasn't right. No child should be so brave. Adults were supposed to be brave for the children, not the other way around.**

**All too soon, the boy came face to face with a heavy rounded door with steel serpents possessing of emerald eyes that locked it securely shut. She prayed the child would end his exploration there, that he would turn back and fetch some Knight or parent to deal with whatever was behind that vault door for she knew that there was something terrifying behind it, but the boy did not flee, he did not look as though he even considered fleeing. As frightened for the boy as she was, Morgana admired his courage though she lamented it as well.**

**The boy opened his mouth and out of it came a silibant hiss that formed archaic words that seemed to writhe through the air, twisting and turning. She shuddered at the sound, knowing it to be of no language that she knew. It was an unnatural tongue, sensual yet sickening at once and the sounds did not match those that should come from any human mouth. The massive door reacted, the seven jewel eyed serpents retracted as another serpent began to slither around it's age. The sight of such obvious magic frightened her, bringing back the horrible stories Uther had told Arthur and her when they were children, but she could not find it in her to be completely horrified because deep down she felt fascination.**

**The door opened fully and the boy climbed into the entrace, using steps carved into the wall to scale down to the floor. As he reached the bottom, dozens of torches lit at once making Morgana jump in sudden fear. She had never had a dream such as this one, usually she merely saw fragments in her terrible nightmares, but here she could stand, walk, even scream. Giant carved snake heads lined a wide path made of a dark stone, everything was wet and carried a distinct green tint like pond water. There was a statue, a bust to be precise, of a man with long locked hair in a druidic fashion with a matching beard and a hawkish nose with a severe frown. He looked like an unpleasant person, but a powerful one. Vaguely, she was reminded of Uther in the tilt of the head and hard features.**

**There was a slash of red at the end of the hall near the bust of the bearded man and as the boy ran toward the color, Morgana realized it was a little girl even younger than the boy. Where were the adults? Did these children have no parents, no caretakers to look after them, no knights to send on dangerous quests? She took note of the girl's clothing, her green eyes pausing she took in the indecent dress. How scandalous! Morgana was no stranger to revealing outfits but not even she displayed her knees! It looked more like underthings than something a girl would wear outside.**

**The boy looked frightened, grabbing the girl's limp hand and speaking in a strange tongue that seemed oddly familiar, but incomplete. She picked up on few words, mostly gibberish that merely sounded similar, but understood what had happened. The poor girl was dead and the boy did not understand, he was still trying to wake her. Morgana felt sadness well up inside her and gave the boy a sorrow-filled look. Poor child did not understand his friend, or perhaps a sister, was gone from the world. Another voice echoed through the cavern, calm and cold. She turned and saw a handsome boy stepping out of the shadows who reminded her strongly of Sir Hadrian, but without any of the warmth and kindness that she knew Sir Hadrian to possess, instead there was cruelty and a demonic red gleam in those otherwise colorless eyes.**

**The two spoke, the elder standing with arrogance and power while the younger reacted with confusion and desperation. They looked related, closely related as though they were brothers or close cousins. The same black hair, though the elder's was more tame, the same cheek bones, the same jawline, even their build was similar. As they spoke, Morgana noticed that the little boy had dropped an oddly ornate stick next to him and the elder noticed as he slyly stole it. As the conversation went on, the tone of it changed: at first there was recognition, now there was suspicion, mocking, and a building hate in both of their eyes.**

**The elder began snarling, pointing the stick at the boy's forehead where there was a curious unhealed scar shaped like a bolt of lightning or a rune. The younger remained defiant, glaring and spitting at his elder kin. After a long moment, the elder began to write some sort of words in the air, but made of fire! Blatant sorcery, no words, no incantations, the sign of true mastery of the black arts according to Uther. Again, one of the reoccuring words were stated, but with venom and horrified realization, "Voldemort."**

**At the word which sounded more like a Frankish name, the elder stood taller with a cruel smirk on his face. She had noticed the name had stroke fear in the eyes of the boy, but an equal amount of loathing as well. These two had history, a history that the younger had not known until that name was mentioned. They argued, the younger she noted was doing better in their verbal spar: his tone was sneering, mocking with a hint of triumph in those familiar green eyes while the elder's was angry, defensive, shouting as he lost control. The sound of a gorgeous song bird echoed throughout the chamber as a magnificent red turkey sized bird with gold plumage swept down and dropped the oddest, and indeed ugliest, hat that she had ever seen.**

**Now, it was the elder boy who looked mocking and triumphant. He turned toward the bust and spoke the same unnatural language as the boy had earlier, causing the mouth of the beared man to open. Morgana let out a scream and staggered back as a truly massive serpent with a crown-like crest slithered. It must have been huge, able to curl around the entire fighting ring of the arena where tournaments were held. Morgana screamed at the boy to run and he did so, fleeing down a set of pipes as he spoke in that hissing language but the serpent did not slow or react to the words. The beautiful fowl from earlier arrived and began to battle the beast, tearing at those hideous yellow eyes with it's sharp talons sucessfully blinding the creature.**

**Morgana cheered the bird on, having a personal hatred of snakes ever since Arthur snuck a garden snake into her bed when she was twelve, but her cheering stopped when the elder boy spoke that hateful language, apparantly commanding the serpent to attack the boy who intelligently leaped into the nearest pipe. She followed the boy, watching as he was cornered and nearly eaten by the terrible serpent only to use it's blindness to his advantage and escape the pipes, making his way back to the girl. The elder was standing by, calm and certain of his victory yet strangely he made no move to attack his younger kin, instead choosing to gloat.**

**She found herself screaming again when the gigantic snake burst from the pool of water at the base of the bust and she yelled a warning to the boy that went unheard, then saw to her amazement a beautiful sword made of gold and huge rubies appear inside the brim of the ugly hat. Without hesitation, the boy grabbed the enchanted sword from it's innocuous sheath and held it before him clumsily. Just from how he held it, Morgana knew at once the boy had no experience with swordsmanship and she closed her eyes, afraid of what she might see. There were terrible sounds: hissing, roaring, the brave shouts of the doomed boy until she could stand it no more and opened her eyes.**

**The little child stood on top of the bust's head, swinging the magnificent sword wildly with no skill yet pure courage. Finally, the terrible serpent lunged and, as proven by her terrified scream, he plunged the sword through the roof of the beast's cavernous mouth. Morgana cheered as the massive snake swayed from side to side before flopping onto the stone with a loud crash, clearly dead. She could not stop the beaming smile that crossed her face and would not have done so even if she could. Against all odds, the boy had survived and emerged triumphant. She felt like she could sing from relief. With no training, no skill, the boy had accomplished something that she very much doubted the Knights of Camelot could and he did it all with nothing save for pure daring. Such a couragous little boy.**

**As he made his way down, however, Morgana's smile slipped from her face, replaced by worry. The child was not moving as he should, he was sluggish and limping. The beautiful sword was dragged behind him, but the boy struggled to make to the little girl, finally dropping the blade and another object that caused Morgana to cover her mouth with horror: a gigantic serpent's fang, one that matched the gaping hole in the boy's right arm at the inside of the elbow. The elder spoke, cruel and taunting with the glee of revenge shining red in those horrible eyes, but the child merely grasped the girl's hand softly. It was touching moment, intimate and filled with unbearable sadness. To her surprise, Morgana found herself crying as she observed the boy slowly dying.**

**Yet, the boy did not give up. He glared at his elder with hatred and grabbed an odd leather tome from off the little girl's chest, then with a fierce snarl the boy grabbed the snake fang and stabbed it into the tome. The elder screamed, his handsome face twisted with inhuman rage and pain, but the boy viciously wrenched the fang free and plunged it down again and again until the elder exploded with a shimmering light. Morgana wanted to cheer, wanted to applaud the child's victory, but did not as she knew nothing had really changed, the boy was still dying from whatever terrible poison the fang had held. The girl awoke from her death-like sleep, speaking quickly in unfamiliar words, but the boy soothed her, pointing out the way he had come.**

**A tear fell down Morgana's cheek. So noble, even when dying he saw to the girl's safety first. The great colorful bird from earlier shared her sentiment, landing beside the boy and releasing the single saddest and most mournful sound that she had ever heard. It, too, wept but it's pearly tears fell onto the wound, miraculousy healing the fatal wound. Startled, the boy looked up and thankfully pet the plumage of the songbird. In the end, only a round pale scar remained and colors swirled around Morgana as she was dragged from her dream into the waking world.**

SCENE BREAK

"Ooohah!" Harry groaned, throwing an arm over his aching eyes to block out the unholy sunlight that seemed determined to pierce his eyelids. He doubled over, curling into the fetal position hoping it would kill the overwhelming nausea. Harry knew that he was not in a bed, having gone tavern hopping (and fleeing) with Gwaine enough times to know that he was outside somewhere, but he did not care where, all that he wanted was for the world to stop spinning on him.

"Hey, are you, uh, alright?" A young voice asked, sounding doubtful with just a hint of supressed laughter. Harry groaned lowly in reply, shrugging his way toward a more shaded area with his eyes firmly closed. "Do you need a physician? I can fetch one?"

"Nooo." Harry nearly growled, wanting nothing more than to sleep or to die. Which one did not matter to him in the slightest, so long as he was able to rest in peace. Someone lifted his arm and began to raise him up, causing him to stagger and wobble treacherously. He could feel the entire contents of the previous night's binge rising, but forced it back down, hoping it would remain that way.

"C'mon, up you go." The annoyingly cheerful voice coached, even as Harry swung around dangerously and finally squinted open one of his eyes. The bright light caused him to immediately close it, but his senses were regretably awake allowing him to smell the strong stench of horse mannure and fresh hay.

"Ohh, not another stable." He groaned out, having had many such horrible mornings with Gwaine though at least Gwaine usually insured he woke up on some strange woman's floor while Gwaine slept in her bed. The attractiveness of the women varied greatly from tavern to tavern and town to town, also on the quality of drink to be found at said tavern. "I hate stables, h-haaate them. Mmmhm!"

"Probably not as much as I do, but I believe you." The voice agreed readily while the owner tried his best to make Harry stand up straight. A flaggon was held to his mouth and Harry greedily downed the water, only to have it pulled back, "Careful now, you're dehydrated. Take small sips or your stomach won't be able to handle it."

Harry wisely listened, sipping at the water slowly and letting it sooth his throat. Finally, he managed to open his eyes and saw a boy around his age, maybe a bit older though for some reason he just seemed so much younger than Harry. He had short black hair and a very angular pale face, but he had warm bright blue eyes and oddly large ears. Harry blinked at the ears, wondering vaguely if they were always that size or if he was still drunk. He paused, wetting his lips before speaking, "Huh, thanks there. I'm Hadrian and you are?"

"Oh, sorry." The boy appologized, wiping a suspicously smudged hand on his brown breeches before shaking the hand thrown over his shoulder. He turned a bright grin on him that made Harry smile back weakly, "Hi, I'm Merlin."

Harry promptly vomited all over the greatest wizard to ever live.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry it took so long to update, but I've been planning out the story further. Harry's new sword is easily found by any search engine, simply type in: discerner sword. You'll find it.

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin or Harry Potter, never have and likely I never will...but when I finally write some epic novel I'm going to take an enormous amount of pleasure in not putting up these damned disclaimers when I inevitably write fanfiction about my own story.

SCENE BREAK

"I'm sorry about that." Harry appologized for the tenth time, sipping some kind of tea that the physician said would ease his stomach and sober him up quicker. He sat at the roughly hewn table in the physician's quarters, an aging yet kind appearing old man named Gaius, and Merlin sat with him, freshly clean from a quick trip to the nearest creek. "I usually don't drink that much."

"Don't worry about it. I've been covered in worst stuff than that, believe me." Merlin shrugged off the appology, but he did appreciate it. It wasn't often that any noble appologized to a peasant, most of them just sneered or ignored his existence completely. Well, Morgana wasn't that bad, but Arthur made up for it with his endless choirs and impossible standards. "How did you get in the stables anyway?"

"I think that I tried to ride back to the Inn, but my horse objected." Harry frowned, struggling to remember the blurry night. He did recall his horse snickering at him, that was an annoyingly clear part of the memory.

"Never heard a horse object to anything before." Merlin joked with a goofy grin, eating a spoonful of some kind of broth that smelled vaguely of chicken, herbs, and some lamb.

"Clearly you've never met my horse. I swear he has it in for me." Harry groaned, recalling all of the embarassing situation his horse had got him into. Landing in the center of a nunnery during Mass sprang to mind. Man, those had been some determined nuns. He almost hadn't escaped with his backside in tact. They were *good* with those canes.

"Why not get another horse, then? I mean, you could afford a new one." Merlin asked, curious as to why a noble would put up with a defiant steed.

"That horse was a gift. He might not be perfect, but he's always come through when it counts. Mostly." Harry said defensively, feeling protective of his mount in spite of it's many flaws. He took another sip of the strong tea when his stomach gave a treacherous lurch. "Ugh. Well, I won't be drinking again for a while."

"That would likely be for the best, milord." Gaius advised, his thin lips twitching a bit. "I'm surprised that you can even speak straight. You consumed enough mead to put a lesser man in his grave."

"Really?" Harry asked with surprise on his face. Well, it was good to know that Tavern hopping with Gwaine had paid off somewhat. "Wow. Uh, any chance that we could keep the whole 'death by mead' thing between us?"

"My lips are sealed." Gaius assured him, sending a pointed look to Merlin who nodded his head quickly in agreement.

"Thank you. Both of you." Harry stated with relief, relaxing. "I dare say that the King would not be very happy to hear of last night's episode."

"I very much doubt he would." Gaius agreed, turning around to fiddle with a few of the many strange objects strewn about the room. When he turned back around, he tossed a small bag filled with dried leaves. "You should be fine for now, Sir Hadrian, but I advise you to cut back on the mead and be sure to drink plenty of the tea I gave you. It should restore much of the nuritients that you lost."

"Thank you for your help Gaius. You as well, Merlin." Harry smiled, standing up and tying the pouch to his belt. He gave a nod to both of them before he took his leave, his mind in far more turmoil than he had shown thus far.

Merlin. It was possible that the name was a coincedence. The boy certainly did not look like the god-like powerful wizard of legend, the seeminly perfect and wise elderly wizard that Harry had seen on a dozen Chocolatte Frog Cards. Besides, Merlin reminded him more of Neville Longbottom than some sort of pre-Dumbledore. Harry couldn't imagine the mythical wizard as a lowly servant, taking orders and running errands from the somewhat spoiled Prince Arthur. It didn't fit with what little history he could recall or the legends passed around the Dormitory late at night. Not only that, but surely THE Merlin wouldn't be a servant in the center of Uther's power.

The real Merlin would have already destroyed Uther for his crimes against all magic kind. There were no walls or armies that would be able to stop him, but that begged the question: if Merlin had not already done that, then where was he? Where was the fabled savior of magic? Why had he let the secrets of the Old Religion pass from the world? Why did he weaken all of those with magic who would come after him, forcing them to rely on all too fragile wands? All Harry had were questions with no answers that were forthcoming. They buzzed around in his mind like a swarm of bees, not answering or solving anything. Merely irritating him. Trying to get the questions out of his mind, Harry turned his thoughts toward Morgana.

She was bossy, spoiled, manipulative, and strong willed. In spite of the fact that those traits should have sent him running, they only made him more interested. He felt drawn to her and not merely because of her considerable beauty. There was something there, something in her eyes that cut straight to his soul. It was terrifying how much she effected him, how amazing he felt every time he was around her. It was as though things just sort of worked when she was around him, everything was so smooth, so reassuring, and he hadn't the slightest clue why. Worse yet was that his instincts told him bluntly to stay away from her, that she was dangerous and could not be allowed to have that much sway over his emotions. He had never felt anything like it before, he couldn't explain it or comprehend it.

Harry sighed again, trying to release the stress by breathing it out. It appeared his questions would remain unanswered for a very long time.

SCENE BREAK

Morgana sat at diner, thoughtfully sipping her soup as her mind wandered. Her dreams were becoming ever more vivid and puzzling. The boy from her dream was no one she had met nor had she ever been in that terrible underground cavern before, so what were they doing present in her nightmares? And what language had they spoken? Usually, her dreams were easily translatable to her in either proper English, Cornish, or Gaelic. Were it Frankish or Germanic language, then perhaps she could understand the presence in her dream, but the language sounded far more similar to some dialect of Latin. The occurences in her nightmares took nothing from the waking world which begged the question: were her dreams truly dreams?

Were not dreams and nightmares accumalated from one's own life, of items and thoughts from daily routine? All that was within came from the person's own mind as Gaius had explained to her long ago. She had never met a giant serpent nor that boy nor had she ever heard that language before. It struck a new kind of fear in her, a slow and creeping terror as she began to question whether the dreams could possibly be magical in nature.

Her mind stubbornly refused that possibility, more due to the danger of it being true than anything else. She did not want to have any sort of magic. Oh, she had nothing against those with it, but for her to have magic would be a joke of the cruelest sort considering that Uther was her guardian. Not even her place as Uther's ward would protect her from the pyre if she ended up being magical or even touched by magic. And what of the boy, that brave, sweet child who risked everything for another? Who was he? What was he doing in her dreams? Where did he get those strange garments?

"-Morgana, Morgana!" Uther's sharp call dragged her back to the real world. She shook her head for a moment then turned toward her disapproving guardian. "Are you even paying attention?"

"Sorry, sire, I had a rough night." Morgana appologized, playing up her weariness as she said the words. As predicted, Uther's gaze softened and his face relaxed.

"Another nightmare?" Uther questioned, something resembling concern in his eyes that Morgana refused to believe or see. She never forgot that the man before her was a heartless monster, a dangerous beast just waiting to fly into a frothing rage at the slightest hint of anything magic. "I will have Gaius brew up a stronger sleeping draft for you."

"You are too kind." She gave a fake smile, her brow still partially furrowed in thought. "You needn't concern yourself with me, my lord. I'll be fine. Now, what we discussing?"

"I think it was...courtship matters?" Arthur supplied all too helpfully, a mockingly cheerful smile sent at Morgana who responded with a slight snarl of displeasure which, of course, only made Arthur's smile grow even larger.

"Yes, we were discussing the possibility of matching Sir Hadrian and yourself." Uther recalled thoughtfully, idly drawing a circle on the table top with his gloved fingers. "You two do seem to have a fondness for one another. What are you thoughts, Morgana?"

"Sir Hadrian does seem to be a just Knight." She answered carefully, not wanting to discuss the possibility in the slightest. "He is rather skilled, but he lacks a proper fiefdom due to Baynard's control of Northern Wales. We know too little about him to aptly judge his character just yet, but thus far he has shown himself to be a brave man."

"He'd need the courage of a lion if he ever has to marry you." Arthur muttered, too low for Uher to hear, but just loud enough for Morgana. She narrowed her eyes dangerously at Arthur who in turn raised his eyebrows and shot her a look as if to say 'am I wrong'.

"Anyway, I think we getting too far ahead of ourselves. I hardly know the man. I'm still young, so I have no need for a husband yet." Morgana said with finality, hoping that Uther would let it be as he usually did on such matters.

"Morgana, I understand that you do not wish to lose your independance. Perhaps the fault lies with me, I raised you too leniently, but I have tried to allow you every possible freedom, even the freedom to choose your own husband." Uther began, his voice falling into a lecturing tone. "However, the years are passing us by. I have denied every marriage contract, even those with outragous offers, since you were twelve years old. Most maidens are married at thirteen, the later ones at fifteen, but you are nineteen now. If I had my way, you'd be a maiden from now till death if that was your choice, but alas, one day you will need a husband to care for you. I will not always be there to provide and take care of you. You must marry Morgana, soon, and I want it to be to a man who will cherish you."

Morgana remained silent, but her venomous gaze announced her opinion for her. She had no desire for any man to have the power to lord over her or command her, let alone the right to force himself on her each night. She had seen many married ladies the day after their wedding night and not a single one of them had looked happy nor fulfilled, instead their eyes were red from crying and they were often bruised badly. That was not for her, it would not happen to her. She would never allow it.

The only man that she had ever truly trusted was her father Gorlois. She could still remember his rich voice with the loving tone, his brown eyes watching her approvingly as she practiced her sword-work which was something most girls were never allowed. He had always encouraged her independence and her dreams, praising her for her strength of will where most men would deprive her of it. He had been the better sort of man and very caring, always making time for her and listening to her wild stories of princes, dragons, swords, and sorcery with an indulgent laugh. Morgana would never forget him, just as she would never forget the identity of the man who had betrayed his trust and masterminded his murder.

"Give Sir Hadrian a chance, Morgana. Take all the time that you require but understand this: you will be married within the next three years. If not to Sir Hadrian, then to another." Uther announced, his face stern and as unyielding as an old oak tree. "I give you this time because you are my ward, but I can not give you any more than that. While I would rather you choose a husband that you can love, it is not required. Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear." She answered coldly, standing up from the table without permission. It was a silent insult to Uther, but he let it slide for the time being. "Consider Sir Hadrian and myself to be in courtship for the time being if you so desire, at least he is something of a gentleman."

"Let her go." Uther said to Arthur who had stood up to go after her. The King watched his ward march out of the room angrily with some regret, but not enough to change the situation. "Give her time to come to terms with the arrangement."

"Yes, Father." Arthur said unhappily, his blue eyes still staring after Morgana. He had been just as surprised by the topic as Morgana had been and nearly as angry, but perhaps his father was right. Maybe all she needed was time, yet even he doubted that. "We should have waited a few months more. If Hadrian and Morgana had longer to become acquainted, perhaps she wouldn't have been so adverse to the idea of marriage."

"She needed to understand her situation. She is young and doesn't yet understand the sacrifices I have made for her. On a dozen occasions, our enemies have nearly gone to war with Camelot on account of my selfish refusals for any marriage contracts for her." Uther revealed quietly, staring at the door tiredly. "Cenred, in particular, was insistant."

"Surely you wouldn't have given her to that monster." Arthur half yelled, startled by that piece of information. He knew how cruel that King was. If Morgana were betroathed to Cenred, well Arthur would undoubtedly have killed the man rather than allow that to happen. Morgana, for all her annoying traits, did not deserve that fate. No woman did.

"Of course not." Uther snapped at the outrageous possibilty. "But others would not have been so defensive of her. Were I any other king, she would have been wed at thirteen if not younger. Now, onto other matters: Morgana brought up a good point. Sir Hadrian, for all his skill, has no fiefdom with which to support a family."

"That is no fault of his own. He lost his lands to Baynar's men when he was just a child." Arthur pointed out, feeling the need to do so. "When Duke Gorlois fell, so did the Blacks. They lost everything in that battle."

"As did many others. Too many." Uther nodded sadly, still angry over the sacking of Cornwall by Baynar and the loss of Lot's lands. "And I can not help Sir Hadrian reclaim them. Baynar would consider it an act of war, something I can't allow. Not when we are so close to peace at last."

"Perhaps we can help him, if not directly." Arthur suggested, thinking deeply. He stood up, pacing so as to help him think. After a moment, he turned back to Uther and spoke carefully, "We could provide him with maps and information on troop movements, patrols, and the defenses of the towns. Surely that would give Sir Hadrian the advantage?"

"You may be right, but we will have do it subtlely. No one must be able to trace the information back to Camelot." Uther murmured thoughtfully, one of his hands rubbed his chin then he turned to his son. "But this is all in theory, of course. I have no knowledge of your suggestion nor of any similar plots, Arthur."

Arthur smiled at the unofficial permission given to him.

SCENE BREAK

The long sword practicly sang with the purity of the steel as Harry unsheathed it, admiring it's silent majesty in the shop of Leon the Blacksmith. It was a magnificent weapon, simple yet so very elegant and as beautiful as it was deadly. The steel was so polished that it gleamed like mercury, it's thinner than normal double edge trailed down gracefully only to widen just before it met the seemingly golden guard and below that the hilt was wrapped tightly with white silk with the circular pommel the same golden metal as the guard. Along the blade were silver runes just a tad bit lighter than the rest of the mercurial sword, etched into the blade during it's forging and they were most curious. On one side the runes read 'discern thy enemy' and on the other 'strike truly', an odd saying but one that Harry found himself liking.

"Verdict?" Leon asked, not anxious in the slightest. If anything, the man was full of anticipation and no small amount of pride as he looked upon one of the finest blades that he had the pleasure of crafting. He already knew from Sir Hadrian's stunned face that his customer was pleased, but as a humble blacksmith who did not usually earn much gold he liked to fish for compliments when it came to his life's work.

"I've never held in my hands a more magnificent weapon." Harry stated with awe, giving the sword a brief twirl which once again amazed him with it's perfect balance. It made the sword seem very light, but he knew it was still plenty heavy enough to pierce all save for the thickest armor around and maybe even that. Next to the sword in his hand, Gryffindor's blade seemed absurdly decorative and clumsy. "Does it have a name, Master Blacksmith?"

"Indeed, it does, but feel free to rename it if it is not your liking, your lordship. My daughter, Gwen, loves to name the swords I make but most of their names go unheard of." Leon smiled, feeling great pride as he gaze on his work and recalled how he had shaped it as well as the work he put into it. "She called it 'the Discerner'."

"Then that will be it's name." Harry nodded, his light green eyes still mesmerized by the sword he held. It cut through the air, carrying a whisper as it did so. The sound sent a shiver running down his spine and caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on edge. He had no doubt that the edge was sharp enough to slice through a man without any trouble. "Is it strange that I am reminded of a woman that I know when I hold this sword?"

"Maybe to some, but I've always found that the best women are like swords. You get what work you put into them. Treat them badly and they will betray you at the fatal moment when you need them the most, but if you treat them with respect and handle them properly, smooth their jagged edges and polish them with love then you will find that there is nothing which you can trust more." Leon told him, a faint smile on his mouth as he thought of his late wife and his dutiful daughter whom had ascended to the highest station that a commoner could achieve. "A fine woman is as beautiful and just as deadly as the blade in your hand. Remember that, Sir Knight."

"I will. Thank you." Harry nodded, carefully sliding the Discerner back into it's sheath. He reached for his purse and pulled out two gold pieces which he laid on the nearest table, despite having paid in advance. "For your fine work, Leon Degrance."

"Milord is too kind." Leon bowed, but made no move for the money. He would not do that until Sir Hadrian left his shop. "It pleases me to see my work appreciated. Please come again when your armor needs repairing."

"I will." Harry promised with nod, before taking his leave of the small shop.

Wallking down one of the cobbled streets in Camelot, Harry felt powerful with his new sword at his side and he stood a bit straighter due to that. There was the strangest feeling of familiarity as he felt it's weight on his left hip, but it was not unnerving sensation, in fact it was comforting. Having the Discerner on him was like re-discovering a lost friend. He thought on the feeling as he strode down the sun warmed street, languidly admiring the wares of the merchants. Harry had felt something like it before, but different, nearly opposite to the current one. It was when he first met Voldemort back in his First Year. Was it destiny that he was feeling now? Yet instead of the weighted feeling that had laid on his unprepared shoulders back then, he now felt a sense of being lightened as though his burden was lifted from him at last.

What did that mean? Had he escaped his destiny in his adventure through time? Or had it merely been postponed? Or maybe, just maybe, he was precisely where he was supposed to be all along. He felt right. More than right, he felt good, he felt justified, he felt eager. What precisely was his destiny? Could any man truly know what awaited him? If only he could recall the legends surrounding Camelot, but the bare facts from before haunted him, that there was a King named Arthur and a god-like sorcerer who was said to be the very incarnation of magic itself. Nothing more came to him. It was completely blank. Was he rewriting history or living in the past as part of history?

"Sir Hadrian, Sir...Hadrian!" Came an exhausted call from behind him causing Harry to turn to see the serving boy whom he had vomited on weeks ago. He remembered his name only due to the boy's kindness and that he shared his name with the immensely powerful wizard Merlin. The gangly boy, for some reason Harry thought of him as a boy despite Merlin being a few years older than he was, panted for breath and paused to double over. "Arthur... wants to... see you... in his chambers..."

"Did you run all the way here from the castle?" Harry asked, a smile creeping across his face though he tried to keep a somber appearance. It was difficult not to grin at Merlin with his pink face and ridiculous ears.

"No, I, uh, went to the tavern...first...then the stables..then..." Merlin gasped out, looking ready to faint at any moment. He slumped down onto the cobblestones and sat there for a long moment trying to catch his breath. The servant boy did not look like he cared in the slightest what people might have thought of him, nearly a man, sitting like a child in the street. "Just head to Arthur's chambers. I'll...huh, catch up in...a bit!"

"Alright there, Merlin?" Harry questioned, becoming a bit concerned. Merlin nodded his head, still panting for breath, then just pointed toward the castle. Harry nodded awkwardly and headed off to see the Prince, leaving an exhausted Merlin behind. As he walked off, he thought he heard a faint thump, but ignored the odd sound after a brief pause.

It didn't take him very long to reach Arthur's chambers, perhaps thirty minutes to navigate his way to the castle then another ten to find out from the guards where said chambers were. He paused at the door and knocked hard on the massive oak door since he wasn't entirely sure a regular knock would penetrate the thick wood. After a moment, he heard Arthur's voice call out, "Enter!"

Harry steeled himself, straightened his back then pushed open the door and walked into the massive chambers. It was suprisingly sparse as far as royal quarters went with a decorative four poster bed, a large polished desk, and a window balcony. Tapestestries hung over the stone walls, displaying the lineage to which Arthur was born and, naturally, the Pendragon coat of arms. Arthur sat at his desk, looking over the heaps of scrolls and parchements. Upon seeing Harry, Arthur stood up to greet him, "Sir Hadrian, glad you could come. Take a seat."

Harry cautiously did so, wondering why the Crowned Prince would want to meet him. They weren't friends. He only knew Arthur from the tournament and considered him to be as cocky as a Malfoy, but not irredeemably so. There was room for growth in Arthur, a sense of honor and fair play hidden beneath his arrogant exterior. He could be a great man one day if someone regularly kept his ego in check. "You wished to see me, Sire?"

"Yes, it's a matter of some importance." Arthur nodded, looking serious for the first time since Harry had seen him. He ruffled around the documents then pulled several ones out, placing them on the corner of the desk. "It had come to my father's attention that Morgana has an interest in you. In light of this, he wishes to bind you two together in courtship."

"Courtship? But we barely know one another!" Harry protested, unable to keep the dread out of his voice at the prospect. The sound made Arthur smirk briefly in amusement.

"Morgana hasn't threatened to kill you yet and that's good enough for my father." Arthur stated, shrugging to indicate his own helplessness in the proceedings. "By all customs, she should have been married years ago. Time is running out for her. Father wants her to be married to someone who won't abuse the priviledge and he hopes that you are someone who wouldn't. Besides, it's only a trial run to see if you two are well matched. If either of you still have reservations in one year, then you can call it off, but be careful about that, it could be construed as insulting and, as you may have noticed, my father doesn't take kindly to being insulted."

Harry frowned and began to think hard on the matter. He really didn't want to follow any order given by Uther and he held no illusions that the courtship was a suggestion. Personally, he disliked the idea of being forced to marry anyone, but on the other hand Morgana was going to be married to someone eventually, someone who would not be as restrained as he was. He knew very well what marriage was like to women in the current age and it could be summed up in one word: barbaric. The idea of someone forcing themselves on her enraged him. He took a deep breath, then nodded to Arthur, "Fine, I'll court Morgana, but it'll be her decision in one year's time that will decide whether we'll be...married or not."

"Try not to look to disturbed at the idea when you tell my father that, will you?" Arthur drawled, though he didn't show how relieved he was at Sir Hadrian's words. If Sir Hadrian left the choice in Morgana's hand, then he had already proven himself to be an honorable man, one who would respect her. "Anyway, Morgana is not the only reason I've called you here. It's come to my attention that, though you are of noble blood, you lack any fiefdom with which to provide for Morgana. I've decided to help you out with that, though 'officially' Camelot will not be supporting you or your endeavors."

"And how will be helping me secure a fiefdom?" Harry questioned uneasily, not wanting to trust any gift from a Pendragon. Arthur might be a decent fellow deep down inside, but Uther was ruthless to the core and would undoubtedly use the aid to keep Harry indebted to him.

"These," Arthur grabbed the papers he had set aside earlier and handed to Harry, "are current maps of your ancestial lands along with other information such as border patrols by Baynard's men, the defenses of the villages surrounding Blackwood, and their armements. Regretably, I could not get an accurate count of how many men are in his service."

Harry took a few moments to read the information, learning the general layout as well as he could in a short amount of time. He tried to deny the eagerness he felt at the chance to conquer the lands and mentally scolded himself for it. A good man should not long for war, but he could not keep himself from wanting to liberate the towns from Baynard's cruelty and impose a more just system for it's peoples. Still, he was hesitent to accept the apparant 'gift', "And what would you recieve in return for such information?"

"I would be happy in the knowledge that Morgana will be well provided for, but my father would likely expect some sort of alliance or trade agreement that leaned more towards Camelot's betterment than your own land's." Arthur admitted, not looking happy at that. "But you would be, for all intents and purposes, an independant Lord of neutral lands."

"King Baynard has many men under his command. Should I prove victorious, I doubt he would allow me to keep my lands without any form of retaliation." Harry pointed out, eying the small mountain range just east of Blackwood. "He has an army. A very experienced and well equiped army that equals the number of peasants living in those lands. How do you suppose I counter those numbers?"

"Why not raise an army of your own?" Arthur suggested, looking thoughtful. "You have enough gold from the tournament winnings to finance a sizable mercenary army and the spoils of war would make them even cheaper."

"No!" Harry denied the idea immediately, more heat in his voice than he had intended. The words of Morgana echoed in his head, how she had defended her actions by pointing out the horrible character of most mercenaries and their lack of honor. "I will not have my people's homes burned and their women raped by hired swords. If I return to Blackwood, it will be as a liberator. Not a conquerer."

"And how do you expect to fight Baynard's army without mercenaries? Your people are made up of fishermen and farmers, not warriors. Most have never held a sword." Arthur said doubtfully, pointing out the flaw in Harry's protest. "You'll need an experienced army to counter Baynard's own. His men are strong, their swords are sharp and without mercy."

"In convential warfare I would lose, so I will fight unconventially." Harry answered, a smile beginning to spread across his mouth as a plan began to form. "No kingdom can win in a war against an unwilling populous, so I will turn the people against Baynard and inspire them to fight with me to take their lands back. Instead of buying an army, I could form a resistance among the people. Using surprise and ambush techniques, we could pick off Baynard's superior numbers in small amiunts until he has no army which would keep my people fresh and their numbers more intact than a full frontal assasult."

"Tell me more." Arthur ordered, interested in the idea of such warfare. He had used similar techniques before in raids, but had never considered using them on such a wide scale.

"My people are hunters. They know those lands, know that the mountains protect them and know every path in those mountains. I'm positively that Baynard's conquest of Blackwood has made many enemies for him. I just to need find them, train them in secret, and spread them throughout the lands." Harry announced excitedly, becoming more enthused with the idea as began to recall the old stories of Robin Hood and how a small band had won the heart of the people. "We'll use the elevation and landscape against them to take the high ground while cutting off Baynard's supply routes."

"It's a very risky plan, Hadrian. One I've never seen the likes of before." Arthur warned, more worried for Morgana's future than the knight's safety. "And it'll take time to put into effect, maybe even years."

"You're right, but these people will be fighting for their homes and a better future for their families. I would say one peasant fighting for such things are worth five of Baynard's knights. They'll be more than peasants in the minds of the people. They'll be heroes." Harry grinned, feeling in control for the first time in a long while. He did not mention the fact that he planned to recruit sorcerers and the Druids to secretly aid his future resistance. "And heroes are very inspiring. I don't have to defeat Baynard's army on the battlefield, I just need to win over the minds of the people. Lands are merely earth and trees without it's people, he would not dare kill off everyone or face rebellion from other lands."

"You be right." Arthur nodded, thinking it over carefully. He walked over and patted Harry's shoulder. "Best of luck to you, Sir Hadrian. Something tells me that you are going to need it."

"Tell me about it. I'm going to be fighting an entrenched and experienced enemy." Harry smiled weakly, despite his plan it would be his first time going into battle. Real battle. Not just a dozen Death Eaters, but hundreds, maybe even thousands of hardened enemy soldiers and each one was going to want his head on a pike.

"Actually, I was talking about Morgana." Arthur stated, looking sympatheticly at Harry with an almost pitying glint in his blue eyes.

Harry's eyes went wide as he realized that he still had to talk with her about the whole courtship thing, not to mention him eventually going off to war. "Shit."

"Hm hm." Arthur nodded, a cheshire smile spready across his face. He looked far too happy at the concept of someone else having to put up with Morgana. "Word of advice, don't mention the word 'blood'. It might make her excited."

Harry gulped.

SCENE BREAK

Harry needed flowers. Badly. Unfortunately, all of the flowers at the market just didn't seem right and were common. If he wanted to avoid being skewered by an unhappy Morgana then he needed something special. He had gone to speak with her a few hours ago and found her at the training yard, slashing up a training dummy that was dressed like a knight with a disturbing smirk on her face. At that point, he had decided to retreat and rethink his approach thus leading him to go on a flower hunt. Girls liked flowers and the bribe might very well allow him the seconds he needed to get through to her.

Finally, frustrated beyond belief, Harry had gone to a small clearing not far from Camelot to think up an appropiate courtship gift. Not for the first time, he wished all women were like Nimueh. All he had to do was give her a massage and make love to her in order to keep her happy, but Morgana was just a tad bit more complicated. Flowers would be a good start, but he needed something very special, something that would shock her out of any angry rants. It was at that point that Harry remembered chocolatte. Everyone liked chocolatte, women especially, but in the medieval era it didn't exist, or at least not in Albion.

With that thought in mind, Harry closed his eyes and began to concentrate hard on several bars of Honeyduke's best chocolatte. He imagined the taste, the texture, the color, every detail that he could pull from his memory. Conjuring was something that, to his knowledge, had never been done using True Magic, so he decided to use the spell they taught in Transfiguration and power it with magic from the earth.

"Exorior Chocolatte." Harry whispered, drawing on the magic of the forest and combining it with his internal magic. His eyes glowed gold with power as three bars of chocolatte complete with wrapped appeared on the ground in front. Hesitently, he broke off a piece and tasted it. His eyebrows rose when he discovered it was delicious, nearly as good as the real thing.

The only problem that he could see was that conjured food wouldn't give any nutrition, but that also meant that the chocolatte he had just conjured would not fattening in the slightest and would in essence be for taste. He began to smirk to himself. It appeared he had found the bribe he was looking for to pacify Morgana. As he stood up, he stumbled a bit and had to grab a nearby tree to steady himself. The spell had taken a lot more out of him than he had believed. It was ironic that he could summon a massive fireball without a sweat and stun a dozen warriors with ease, but he couldn't conjure chocolatte without needing a break.

As Fluer had told him once, 'such is life'.

END OF CHAPTER

AN: Well, there it is. I was going to write more, but my computer has been acting up and I honestly don't know how much longer it'll last so I figured it would be for the best to get this chapter out there before I lost everything. Kindly review, even if it's only one word. You'd be surprised how much it helps.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: This chapter is going to be shorter than normal, but I wanted to reward you guys for leaving me so many reviews. Thanks you very much, each and every word counts to me. I try to answer my reviewers, but if you are a guest then don't ask questions because I sadly can not reply to you or message you the answers to your questions.

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin or Harry Potter, nor am I making any form of monetary gain from this little venture. It's purely for the pleasure of my readers and to hone my writing skills.

SCENE BREAK

When Harry returned to Camelot with his gift, he set off to find Morgana. The problem was that he couldn't find a sign of her which worried him slightly. He had only a rough idea of how she would take the news of their courtship and it involved a long sharp piece of steel. She was not a submissive woman nor the sort to take orders, he knew that. It's part of what made her so attractive to him, that she had become so strong and independent in a time where strength in women was frowned upon, but he still had to explain that to her. If he had to have a girlfriend, then he wanted her to be able to think for herself. He didn't need a slave nor did he want one. He needed someone who could hold her own and would tell him to his face when she thought he was wrong. She needed to know that he was not taking her independence from her, but was going to encourage it.

Finally, he found one of the castle guards who informed him that the Lady Morgana had gone out riding with her maid and a knight for protection. Officially, there was only one knight on protection detail, but Arthur had ordered three knights to discreetly follow them, just in case a band of brigands became too bold. It took Harry around ten minutes to make it to the stables where his destrier, Hermes, awaited him anxiously. The horse butted him roughly, his form of scolding Harry for not visiting or using him often enough. Harry had been forced to whisper apologies to the much too clever steed before he was allowed to saddle him and load his gift into the saddle bags. As usual, Hermes was all too happy to prance his way to the gates with Harry perched on his back and the steed looked kingly with it's gold reigns as well as the black saddle blanket.

Harry rode around aimlessly for half an hour, giving Hermes some exercise by riding him fast through the woods to leap over fallen trees and tested his reaction to the reigns by changing direction without warning. Hermes obeyed his commands perfectly, not once hesitating or putting up a fuss. It made his rider suspicious, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. Make no mistake, Hermes was a powerfully built and swift horse, but he had a distinct attitude problem so his sudden obedience was alarming. Sometimes, Harry wondered whether Hermes was magical or if Nimueh had cast some sort of enchantment on him since most horses were not nearly as intelligent as the black stallion.

All too soon he spotted Morgana and Gwen. Morgana was clothed in a gorgeous blue dress with her black hair plaited and no woman had ever looked so beautiful in the color. Ravenclaw herself would have jealous and green with envy. His breath caught his throat as he stared at her, dumbfounded by how the bright sunlight made her pale skin gleam like moonlight. She turned and looked straight at him, her smiling face turning emotionless. It was at that point that Hermes' revenge became apparent as the horse suddenly reared and threw his rider. Hermes snickered at him, a sound that was very near a laugh especially with the way his lips lifted to display his teeth in a sort of triumphant grin. Harry glared up at Hermes sullenly from his place on the ground, cursing the beast under his breath.

"Sir Hadrian!" Morgana's worried cry caused Harry to remain flat on his back. A worried Morgana was better than an angry or emotionless one in his opinion. She soon reached him and began to help him up as she glared balefully at Hermes who snickered again. "That horse should be put down. It's obviously untrustworthy."

"No, just mischievous and spirited. His revenge for not visiting him earlier." Harry defended his horse, he threw a dark look at the steed as he stood up before he turned to Morgana. "I was hoping to speak to you. Prince Arthur informed me of our courtship less than three hours ago. I think we need to talk."

"Really? I don't see that there's much to say." Morgana replied coolly, switching moods so suddenly that he was caught off guard. How on earth could someone go from concerned to cold in the blink of an eye?

"Well, I do." Harry answered, glancing around to see that Gwen and the knight was nearby. "We really need to sort some things out. Could you two give us a few moments of privacy? You don't have to go far, just out of ear shot."

The knight opened his mouth to protest, but Gwen swiftly interjected with one of her warm smiles, "I don't think that would be a problem, do you Sir Leon?"

"Stay within view. The King would have my head if I allowed a courting couple out of my sight." Sir Leon warned, giving Harry a pointed look that said 'don't try anything funny'. Harry nodded to the knight, showing his acceptance of the terms. Once Sir Leon and Gwen had retreated a little over a hundred feet, Harry took a deep breath then turned to Morgana.

"I want you to know that this wasn't my idea. I was as surprised as you." Harry began, feeling a bit nervous when Morgana stared back at him with an expectant eyebrow raised. "Bloody hell, this is difficult. Listen, I know that you prize your independence and your freedom. I won't take that from you. I can't promise we'll be happy or love one another, but I will take care of you and try to make your life as comfortable as possible. Morgana, I really do like you and a lot of it is because of who you are. You're one of a kind. Strong, clever, beautiful, and willful. I won't, I can't take that from you."

"Pretty words, but have they any truth?" Morgana drawled, unconvinced by his speech. Harry faltered at her doubt, but pushed on, his determination to prove her wrong becoming stronger.

"I don't know what I can do to prove my sincerity to you. What would you have me do? Do you want me to fight all of Camelot?" Harry asked, his frustration leaking into his voice. "I'd do it, you know, just to prove I care. I was never any good at romantic conversation, my lady. Give me a task, find a troll for me to slay, point me toward an enemy, and I'd fight it!"

"Fight Camelot? A troll? No, I don't want you to do that." Morgana began, walking toward her white mare and fiddling with something near it's saddle. When she turned around, she unsheathed the sword that she kept there. "Fight me. You wish to prove that you respect me, then fight as you would a man."

"But...nevermind. Alright." Harry began to protest, having a problem with fighting against women out of ethics, but he stopped and agreed to it, knowing she would accept nothing else. He walked to Hermes and withdrew the Discerner, giving the excellent blade a twirl. "If this is what it takes, then I'll do it."

"Hmm, this might be interesting after all." Morgana grinned, eyeing the beautiful sword that had been forged for Harry's hand alone. She took her stance and briefly wondered whether she should warn him not to hold back, then dismissed that thought with a smirk. If he underestimated her, then so much the better.

"Ready?" Harry questioned, feeling confident in his skill. He had finished second in the tournament, after all.

Instead of replying, Morgana struck out with lightning speed that surprised him so much that he barely managed to block it. He tried to force her back with his superior strength, but Morgana twirled on her heel, slashing her sword at his back as she turned. Harry jumped forward, dodging the strike and turned with his blade held in front of him defensively. Morgana appraised him briefly, an eyebrow lifted in challenge. "What's wrong, Sir Hadrian? Suddenly, you're not so confident."

"Just a bit surprised, my lady." Harry stated, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he realized from their brief exchange that he couldn't hold back. It lit a fire in his chest. He lunged, but she blocked it with a downward swing before swinging up at his neck. Harry took half a step back, watching as the sword sliced through the air where his chin had been and swung at her right side which she blocked by dropping into a crouch to make her blade faster on it's descent. Their swords locked, but she did not allow him to take advantage of the position and surprised him with a punch to his jaw. The shock of having her actually punch him was what knocked him back rather than the force of the hit.

Harry growled and lunged, then feinted, turning it into an angled diagonal swipe that forced her lean back and compensate for the block she had prepared. Suddenly, Harry realized that her foot was near the inside of his right ankle right before she kicked out. He was knocked down onto his back with her blade pointed at his throat. He looked up into her flushed face, her lips pulled into a feral smile, "You're skilled. Few can match Arthur, but I beat him routinely, my lord."

"You're good. Better than me." Harry acknowledged, then kicked her feet from under her causing her to fall on top of him. He used her surprised to flip them over so that he was on top, drawing his dagger from the back of his belt in one smooth movement. He held it against her throat, breathing heavily with a grin, "But I cheat!"

Morgana stared at him, her usually cold eyes aflame with the thrill of the fight. She shifted her hips, causing her to grind against him briefly. His green eyes went wide at her action, unable to believe she'd do something like that and his shock was his downfall. She had slyly removed her own dagger from the underside of her bodice and now nicked the side of his throat to display her win. Gray green eyes were heady with triumph, strangely cat-like as she purred, "So do I."

"Fine, you win." Harry managed to say, his voice trembling slightly as arousal shot through his body. Morgana smirked, he idly noted that she had smirking down to an art form. Her eyes went downward for a moment then glanced up slyly, her smirk widening. He realized suddenly that Sir Leon and Gwen were watching which caused him to shoot to his feet. "I, hem hem, I have a gift for you, m-my lady."

"I'm sure." She commented lightly with a hint of teasing, raising another eyebrow. He held out a hand to help her up which she accepted, brushing the grass off of her dress. To be honest, she was surprised that she fought as well as she did considering the dress she was wearing. While it was a gorgeous dress, it was hardly practical. She eyed him with a little more respect as he went up to his stallion and ruffled around in the saddle bags. When he turned, she saw that he had two strangely wrapped boxes.

"I can promise you two things: one, you've never had anything like this and, two, you'll never be able to find it in Camelot." Harry told her, walking up to her before presenting the gifts to her. "It's called 'chocolate' and it comes from a land to the far north called Swiss' Land. I was fortunate to run into an old friend of mine who is a merchant. He was kind enough to let me buy these off of him before any other buyer."

"Strange gift." Morgana frowned, opening the wrapping that covered one of the little rectangular package to reveal a heavenly smelling brown bar of some sort. "Is it some sort of soap?"

"No, it's a dessert. You eat it. In fact, I think you may be the first person in Albion to ever taste chocolate." Harry smiled in amusement as he saw the suspicious glances she kept shooting the bars, likely doubting that anything brown would be tasty. When he spoke next, his tone was teasing, "Give it a try. Unless my lady thinks that I would poison her?"

"Oh, I don't think you have the guts to poison me, Sir Hadrian." Morgana replied tauntingly, breaking off a little square and sniffing it lightly. Despite her words, she still eyed him with some suspicion. Harry gave her a challenging look and, sure enough, she took a bite if only to spite him. Her eyes widened and a small moan escaped her lips as the delicious treat melted in her mouth. "This is amazing!"

"I'm glad you like it. Don't eat too much of it or you might get sick. Just small bits at a time. It's meant to be savored." Harry informed her encouragingly, his green eyes staring straight at her ruby mouth as he pink tongue shot out to lick the traces of chocolate off of her lips. She noticed his stare and teasingly exaggerated her pleasure which wasn't too difficult. The 'chocolate' truly was divine and made all the more valuable to her since she was the first to ever enjoy it's taste. "I-I see you like it."

"Hmmmm." She nodded, breaking off another tiny piece and nibbling on it. She was well aware of his reaction and enjoyed the power it gave her over him, making liberal use of her tongue as she ate the sinful treat. Harry watched, his mouth open just a bit as he stared. She took the opportunity to shove a small piece of the chocolate into his mouth. Morgana felt a bit paranoid, but the fact he chewed up the desert and swallowed it caused her to relax her guard. She had been worried for a moment. Nothing was as good as this 'chocolate' was without some sort of catch, but it appeared to be simply heavenly.

"I'd love to stay and watch you lick, I mean eat, eat the chocolate, but I've spent too much time riding. There is an old friend of mine that I have to meet." Harry said, stammering a bit with a very slight blush on his pale cheeks. Morgana frowned in disappointment. "But, maybe we can have dinner together later and talk about where this is going. There's something important I have to discuss with you."

"Very well, later. Come to my chambers at around seven. I'll have Gwen bring something up from the kitchen for us." Morgana agreed, not wanting him to leave, but not wanting to seem too eager either. "I'm sure Uther wouldn't mind so long as Gwen is present, but we should expect one of Arthur's 'surprise' visits."

"Alright, then. Seven." Harry smiled, an open genuine smile that hadn't crossed his face in far too long. "See you there, my lady."

SCENE BREAK

Harry walked into the clearing that he had specified in his letter. It was far enough from Camelot to avoid any patrols and decently secluded for the meeting to come. He knew his friend was nearby, could feel his eyes on him, but he was content to wait until the man was convinced that he hadn't been followed. It took fifteen minutes before his fellow sorcerer was satisfied that Harry had come alone.

"Greetings, Sir Hadrian." Alvarr smirked, hoping to catch Harry off guard with a sudden appearance but only got a bored look in return. He sighed, "How is it that you always know when I'm about?"

"You breathe too heavily." Harry replied with a grin, walking over to clasp forearms with his first teacher in the ways of the Old Religion. He glanced over his friend's shoulder, spotting Enmyria and several others he did not know. "I see you've expanded your band, old friend."

"Uther's cruelty earns him enemies daily, but what is this that I've heard about you remaining in Camelot?" Alvarr asked, a sly smile on his face. "Besotted by the King's ward, I've heard. Not becoming sympathetic to our enemies, are you?"

"You know how much I despise Uther, Alvarr. By the way, my love life is none of your business. Not everyone enjoys boasting like you." Harry told him easily, not worried in the slightest that Alvarr might think he had turned traitor to his own race. "Morgana is not Uther."

"Ah, so this maiden's name is Morgana? I'd have never thought you would finally find yourself a woman given your shyness." Alvarr playfully mocked, getting shoved for it by Harry. "I must ask: did she have to blackmail you into love?"

"No, she did not. Doesn't mean she would not." Harry stated with a fond smile that caused Alvarr's eyebrows to raise. He glanced over at Enmyria and gave a brief bow in her direction, "Still with this dog, Enmyria? I thought his womanizing would have drove you off by now or that you would have killed him in his sleep?"

"Not yet. He does have some redeeming traits." The sorceress smirked, glancing over at her lover and friend. "Not many, but some. How have you been, Hadrian?"

"Surprisingly well. My head is still on my shoulders, but unfortunately so is Uther's." Harry commented lightly, brief disappointment crossing his face as he mentioned the king.

"Not to worry. His time is coming soon." Alvarr remarked, his voice darker than normal. It caused Harry to shoot him a pointed look. "Won't be soon enough, however."

"Now is not the time to make war on Uther Pendragon. It's time for us to find a home for our people and to build." Harry announced, giving the group a steady and stern look. He would not have them screwing around and causing needless trouble. "I have a plan that will help me to take back Blackwood. I've received information concerning all of Bayard's forces in those lands, information that will prove invaluable. In return for certain trade concessions, should we liberate my lands from Bayard's men then we will be allowed to govern ourselves with myself as an independent Lord, free from any other kingdom...and their laws."

"You speak of having magic legal in Blackwood?" Alvarr asked, suddenly very interested. "I think that I can get behind that idea, but what of Bayard's armies? His knights are notoriously brutal and well equipped. How will you deal with them when not Camelot can defeat them?"

"My people are hunters and our prey will be his knights. We do not confront them on open ground with a standing army. We will wear their numbers down with small skirmishes and ambushes using the bow and arrows. With our knowledge of the mountains, tracking us will be near impossible." Harry explained, receiving smirks from the group at the unorthodox plan. "We will inspire the people with stories and propaganda. Once word gets out about our success then our army will grow."

"But these are fishermen, farmers, and the hunters will have little experience in battle. None of them are trained for combat." Alvarr pointed out, finding a flaw in the plan. "It takes time to train the men up to an effective level, time that Bayard will not allow you."

"I know. That is why the men must be trained in secret before we ever engage the knights." Harry nodded, thankful for Alvarr's input as it allowed him to explain things more fully. "We will recruit slowly in small groups. Only I will know where each squad is at any given time. That will prevent any captured men from betraying the others under torture. Before I go any further, I must know: will you fight against Bayard's armies? Will you obey my commands? Will you fight for a home for our people?"

Alvarr immediately opened his mouth to swear to it, but paused and looked over his ragtag group, recalling that he could not speak for them. He waited for them to discuss it, despite wanting nothing more than to agree with Harry and go to war. When the others nodded to him, he turned back to his friend with a fierce grin, "We are with you...my lord. What do you need us to do?"

"Alvarr, you are a gifted speaker and able swordsman. I want you to find the enemies of Bayard in my lands, sway them to my side, but do so quietly. Our enemies must not know of us before we are ready or else we are already defeated. I want no more than twenty to a group with a sorcerer in command, but no obvious magic, I don't need that getting back to Uther." Harry ordered, looking pointedly at Enmyria who nodded reluctantly. "Magic will be allowed in my lands, but it must be secret until we are strong and the land stable. Approach the druids, recruit those you can from their numbers, but remind them that, even if they will not fight with us, they will still be welcome in Blackwood with our victory. It will breed good will among them."

"And what will you be doing?" Enmyria asked, not doubting him, but curious. She knew that Hadrian was a fearless man, one who did not hesitate to put his life on the line for a friend or for a cause he thought was just.

"I will be funding supplying equipment for our band: swords, arrows, bows, daggers, food. We will stay lightly armored, only chain mail and even then keep it hidden beneath your clothing. Our enemies are many and heavily armored, we must use that to our advantage. You will have the money to pay the men, but I insist that you use no mercenaries and recruit solely from the population." Harry demanded in a tone that said he would not be defied on that point. He went over to Hermes and withdrew a bag that he tossed at Alvarr's feet. "That is four hundred gold pieces. It should be a damned good start. For the time being, I will remain in Camelot. In five months, the war will begin. Train as many as you can. Good luck, my friends."

"Sir Hadrian!" Alvarr called out as Harry mounted Hermes, causing the man to rear his horse around to face the group. Alvarr paused and he looked down, but when he lifted his head, his face was full of emotion. "Thank you...for giving us hope."

"No, thank you my friends. For being willing to fight tyranny with nothing but hope." Harry smiled back with a nod of respect, before he urged Hermes to gallop off.

SCENE CHANGE

Harry entered his room at the Inn and took off his cloak, tossing it down on the rickety chair next to his bed. He had been surprised by how much he had enjoyed his evening with Morgana. The two of them had discussed many things: politics, Camelot, bashed Arthur a bit, just about the only thing that they didn't talk about was themselves. Both had avoided that, Harry due to his past and Morgana due to her privacy. Gwen had played chaperon for them, remaining silent for the most part but occasionally shooting them oddly stern looks whenever she thought they were getting too close.

He laughed to himself, realizing that he felt happy. Very happy and he didn't know why. It was a strange feeling, a sense of lightness and peace that he had never known before. Harry couldn't put a finger on what it was about Morgana that made feel such gladness. By all rights, he felt he should hate her. She was spoiled, arrogant, manipulative, and he could go on, but instead he found himself liking her, even the stuff that he should despise like how bossy she could be or those damned smirks of her's. Seriously, she could give Snape and Malfoy lessons on how to smirk. Sneers, too, for that matter. She practically embodied Slytherin from her love of mind games, to the plotting, the ambition, and she was definitely cunning, far more cunning than anyone he knew of at Hogwarts.

Instead, he felt like he was bubbling over with happiness. Everything just felt so right, even when it was wrong. Maybe especially when it was wrong. He felt like he was walking on clouds or something and half wondered whether he had been drugged. Harry had never felt anything like it, never wanted to hold a girl and protect her from the entire world. Never wanted to destroy anyone who would dare harm her. The thought of her being hurt or dying filled him with a rage that dipped into madness and it terrified him, the thought of what he might do if he ever lost her or if she rejected him. For the first time in his life, Harry felt like he had no control. Helpless. He was at the mercy of his own emotions and he hated that almost as much as he loved it. He felt completely unprepared for what was happening to him.

"Hello, lover." A voice whispered, causing him to freeze. He knew that voice, knew it nearly as well as he knew his own. Harry turned and saw her, leaned against the wall in such a way that he should have known she was in his room immediately. She still wore the tattered red dress, her was still in the same black braids that he himself used, and her blue eyes were as icy as ever.

"Nimueh." He breathed, instinctively kneeling in the presence of the High Priestess. She was his teacher, his guide, and he respected her far more than he had any Professor at his old school, even Dumbledore.

"Surprised to see me?" Nimueh asked pleasantly, her blood red lips curving up in a small smirk even as her blue eyes glittered strangely. "Yes, I imagine you would be. Imagine my own surprise to find you here, in the nest of our enemy. Oh, you may rise, Hadrian."

"I was drawn here. I know not why." Harry replied honestly as he stood, knowing better than to try to deceive the High Priestess of Morrigan. She was still so beautiful, reminding him of deep clear pools of still water and freezing winters at the same time, but he did not feel the same attraction to her that he used to. There was a time when he had spellbound by her beauty, stunned silent by her grace, and it was still there, but lessened.

"I know why. The girl, the one they call Morgana brought you here." Nimueh stated, walking up to him and standing uncomfortably close. She inhaled the scent of his neck and smiled, trailing her sharp red nails down the side of his face. Satisfaction filled her at his shivering. "Your souls know one another. You were always meant to meet whether it was in this life, the one after, or the one after that. Some things are inevitable, your meeting was not by chance."

"What does that mean? Are we soul mates or something?" Harry asked, knowing that Nimueh did not lie. She believed that whenever one lied they murdered some piece of the world.

"Soul mates? What a silly concept!" Nimueh laughed at the preposterous idea, shaking her head and sending her braids flying yet somehow they landed perfectly back into place. "No, sweet Hadrian, nothing quite so pathetically romantic. Your souls are kindred, they see themselves reflected in each other and, like the Greek Narcissus, fell in love with what they saw. Your destinies are intertwined, not just in this life but all lives. In some, she is your lover, in others a sister, in others still a daughter or a mother, and so on."

"Oh, okay. Now I'm beginning to feel sick." Harry muttered at the disturbing revelation, his pale skin acquiring a faint green tint. He tried not to think on what that made him. Nimueh was very amused by his reaction.

"Silly boy. She is not your kin in this life, your souls are kindred. There is a difference. Get those foolish future ideas out of your head this instant." Nimueh admonished with a smile, patting him lightly on the cheek like one would a dog. "I've come with a warning, my love. Beware of the one named Sarrum, he is an evil man whose cruelty is beyond even Uther's own. He will cause you immeasurable suffering, though I do not know how. Avoid him at all costs.

"Sarrum. Sarrum as in King Sarrum of Amata?" Harry asked, feeling dread enter his gut at the mention of the man. Sarrum was infamous for his wickedness and treachery. He had no honor in him, no compassion at all. In short, he was pure evil and may as well be Voldemort's pre-incarnation. "The impaler of women and children?"

"The very same." Nimueh confirmed, something akin to fear for Harry in her eyes. She cupped his face in both hands. "There is no semblance of mercy in him. Do not draw his eye. Your courage does you great credit, but do not be foolish. Do not seek him out. Promise me this?"

"I promise to not seek out Sarrum, High Priestess." Harry swore, kissing her forehead comfortingly when he realized how deeply her vision had effected her. Nimueh did not show weakness. Ever. For her to show even a hint of fear...

"Thank you." She replied softly, closing her eyes to enjoy his loving kiss. Nimueh knew that he would not lay with her anymore and she mourned that fact, even as she admired his loyalty and envied Morgana for capturing his heart. Oh yes, she knew he loved that girl even if he did not yet understand it himself. She had seen glimpses of their future together, both the happiness and the darkness that awaited them for with the highest heights of love come the lowest sorrow. "It pains me to come with such dark warnings."

"You are doing what you think is right. Never feel bad for that." Harry told her, hugging her to him. He loved her, he truly did, but he was no longer in love with her. Their love had been a brief infatuation, one he would always remember with great fondness. He did not regret it. "Do you require rest? My bed is your's. I'll take the floor."

"No, but thank you. I must be getting back to the Isle of the Blessed." Nimueh denied, glancing longingly at the bed but not because of a need for rest. She made herself smile at him, even as she wanted to cry. "Goodbye, Hadrian, may the Triple Goddess watch over you and bless your future union."

"High Priestess." Harry bowed in respect, opening the door for her. He wished that they had more time to catch up, but he understood that she had responsibilities and certain rituals that had to be perform at specific times, though he did not know if tonight was one of those times.

Nimueh gave one last smile before she walked out of his room, pausing just out of his sight as she waited for the door to shut and her love to retire before she cast a teleportation spell to take her back to the Isle. In a rush of whipping wind that covered her form completely, she disappeared from Camelot and appeared in the ruins that were her home.

When she arrived, she fell back against the altar and sank down to knees. Finally, she let down her mask and sobbed as she hugged her knees. Her heart was broken and she could not find it in herself to hate the woman who possessed his love. It was like Uther all over again, but even worse, more painful. Harry, oh yes, she was one of the few to know his true name, was a kind and good man. Too kind, too good for the cold harsh world. Too good for a bitter creature like herself. It was for the best, she knew that, but it still hurt terribly, an agony beyond physical pain that effected only the soul.

"Oh, Goddess, oh Morrigan help me!" Nimueh choked out, begging for a release from her pain and the heavy chains of destiny that yanked at her. "Guide your priestess in this, my most terrible hour, and grant me the strength to do that which you have decreed! Please, please, please..."

Nimueh wept for what seemed like forever. She had no idea how much time had passed nor any way to know. Had it been minutes, hours, or even most of the night? All she knew was her sorrow and the silence of Morrigan. Her love was no longer her's. He belonged to the girl, to the one who would become her successor. She had foreseen it long ago, but it did not make it any less painful, even though she had tried not to get so attached to him. It was an impossible thing to not love him. He was handsome, idealistic, honorable, and powerful. Kind, oh so kind, and full of love, but with enough hate in his heart to understand her darkness. She hated herself for loving him, for the pain she put herself through despite knowing what was to come.

Her only comfort was that she was not alone, though there was no one else on her island nor to be found within many leagues of her home. Her long fingered hands, the nails a bloody red, crept down to hold her stomach protectively as she allowed her illusion to drop revealing her slightly swollen stomach. She drew her strength from there, from the child growing within her womb. The child was conceived nearly two months earlier during her last visit to Harry, but she had cast a spell to hide his existence, just so the father would not notice when she went to say goodbye. It was their child, conceived of their love, but what terrified Nimueh the most was that she could not foresee her baby's future. Whenever she tried, there was nothing but blankness and the brief feeling of lightning, death, pain, then nothing.

"O' Morrigan, Triple Goddess of Death, of Battle, of Strife, of Albion's sovereignty aid your High Priestess and hear my plea. Protect my unborn child, the child of your High Priestess and your Chosen." Nimueh pleaded in a whisper, her tearful blue eyes staring up into the starry sky with great need and hope. "If need be, take my life in return for my child's safe birth. I give it willingly to you, I do so happily and with no hesitation within my heart! Your answered the plea of your Chosen's mother, please do so for me?!"

No answer was forthcoming and Nimueh fell into weeping again, curling up beside the alter with her arms hugging her belly protectively and sobbing until no more tears would come. Still, she whispered her prayers and pleas endlessly. Her head rested against the cool stone of the altar, now dripping with her tears. In her mind, she saw the flash and heard the crackling, felt the sudden all consuming pain, but this time she saw a face. A boy's face, angular and sharp, twisted by grief and rage with eyes burning gold with magic.

In the distance, Nimueh heard a high keening wail whose sound pierce her soul and made her shiver with terrible fear...

END OF CHAPTER

AN: I worked tirelessly on this chapter for you all, so I hope you enjoyed. I wonder if you readers can actually leave more reviews than the last chapter. Remember that reviews help the story to grow and me develop my skills as a writer, so be generous. Now onto lighter stuff. Next time, Morgana vs. Hermes! Who will win?


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Unfortunately, I wasn't able to fit in the Hermes VS Morgana scenes in this chapter, so they will instead be placed in the next chapter. It's a short chapter, more filler (I know you guys hate filler, so do I, but it was a necessary evil) than anything. I had to get this out because my laptop is becoming seriously wonky and I honestly did not know if it would give up the ghost before I could post this. Thank you for your patience and please enjoy the story.

SCENE BREAK

"What do you think of Sir Hadrian?" Merlin asked suddenly, looking up from where he was cleaning the leech tank. Gaius glanced away from his book, hiding his smile behind the cover as he noticed that Merlin was covered in the leeches.

"He seems to be an unusually polite young man, if a bit heavy on the drinking." Gaius replied distractedly, shutting his book when he did not find what he was searching for. "What brought this on?"

"Nothing. It's just, I'm not sure about him." Merlin answered evasively, not wanting to tell his mentor that the knight's presence had alarmed Kilgarrah. "I think he's hiding something."

"Most of us are, but he's done nothing to warrant any suspicion." Gaius told him idly, despite being curious about Hadrian himself. "Has he?"

"Not exactly. Don't get me wrong, I like him, but you have to admit that there is something off about him." Merlin sighed, frowning to himself as he tried to put a finger on what it was. By all rights, he should like the man. He was friendly, polite even to servants, and a brave swordsman. Everyone seemed to really like him. "He's like an itch in the back of my mind that I can't scratch. It's annoying me to death."

"If you don't keep cleaning that leech tank then I'll save you the trouble." Gaius grumped, pointedly looking at said tank. Merlin went back to scrubing with a disgusted look on his leech infested face. "But it's possible that you are onto something. Blackwood is a land well known for putting out exceptional knights, most of whom are also known to be uncommonly brutal."

"Oh? Where is this place anyway?" Merlin wondered, frowning as he scrubbed extra hard on a particularly stubborn crust. "I've never heard of it."

"No, you wouldn't. It's in Northen Wales by the sea. A harsh mountainous land that breeds an equally unforgiving populace I'm afraid. It was under the jurisdiction of Duke Gorlois Le Fay, Morgana's father, until he was felled in battle along with most of his army at the Battle of Sathyson. Including Lord Blackwood, I would imagine." Gauis explained, an unusually somber look on his face. "A few months later, King Bayar set out to conquer Blackwood and add it to his own lands. He found far more than he bargained for."

"What happened?" Merlin asked with interest, pausing in his cleaning until Gauis shot him another dirty look then he quickly resumed his nasty chore. "Was there another army waiting for him?"

"No, not an army. Not in the traditonal sense, anyway. Blackwood was the home of many celts and druids, most of whom had interbred. Understand this, Merlin, the celts are not to be trifled with. They are a cruel, vengeful people well known for making examples of their enemies." The older man lectured, his eyes distant as he recalled the scenes left behind by them. "Most people considered them to be barbaric pagans. They followed grotesque forms of execution when it came to dealing with their enemies, often drinking the blood of their victims and eating their flesh in order to absorb their power. It was not magic, but rather their belief, their religion, or maybe it was merely their way of attacking the minds of their enemies."

"That's sick." Merlin stared, unable to imagine why anyone would do those things. Why would anyone want to drink someone's blood, let alone eat them?

"Perhaps, but it was effective. There were only six hundred celtic fighters against an army of five thousand yet they managed to hold off Bayar for six months. By the time Bayar finally won, a third of his men were dead and the rest were so demoralised, so horrifed by what they had seen that none could stand to be in Blackwood any longer." Gaius smiled bitterly, still able to see the twisted corpses of Bayar's flayed men on display. "Baynr was forced to call re-inforcements to hold the land, but he left with the bulk of his army, trusting his knights to keep it for him."

"I'm guessing that the story doesn't end there." Merlin said perceptively, not sure if he wanted to know anymore about what happened. Gaius shook his head sadly in reply.

"It was the worst decision that Bayar could have made. The reinforcements were young knights, eager to prove themselves and exact revenge for their losses. They had heard the horror stories and desired to prove their superiority." Gaius recalled distantly, his face colder and older than Merlin had ever seen. "What they did was nothing short of evil. Madness and evil. They beat most of the men publicly, executed many more. They took the women and children to camps set up for the 'enjoyment' of Bayar's men. Most died. Those who survived were never the same again, unable to speak and unable to live. Many of them starved themselves to death rather than continue on. No trouble has come from that region since."

"That's...that's..." Merlin couldn't find any words to describe his horror, his throat was suddenly dry and had a lump in it. Against his will, his wild imagination painted a terribly vivid picture that made him nauseus.

"It was evil as I said before. According to rumor, Sir Hadrian's mother Lilith was able to smuggle him out of the land to Cornwall, but was herself captured not long after. I don't think that I need to explain what men of that sort did to the Lady Blackwood." He grimmaced, looking as disgusted as Merlin felt. "She was made an example of. Publicly. Hadrian was safe in Cornwall, but one year later Bayar marched upon Cornwall and claimed it as his own. No one heard from or about him up until two years ago. Of course, all of the information about Hadrian is second hand or from gossip, but I dare say there is more truth than fiction to it."

"How can he be so nice and normal after all of that?" Merlin had to ask, feeling sick at his stomach. The leech tank lay forgotten and unlamented. "I'd have gone mad."

"That's what worries me. Sir Hadrian is, by all appearances, a gallant and well adjusted man who has put his past behind him, but make no mistake, the blood of his mother's people runs in his veins. I believe that he is biding his time, patiently gathering influence and power." The Court Physician remarked, his tone dark yet thoughtful. "More disturbing yet is his continued presence in Camelot. Something keeps him here."

"Maybe it's Morgana? I've heard that they've begun courting." Merlin pointed out, quickly grabbing his rag and going back to scrubbing before Gaius realized he had stopped.

"It's possible. Love is the only emotion more powerful than revenge. There's no benefit for him in courting Morgana. Her lands, estate, and wealth are Bayar's now. All that he could gain is Uther's support behind the scenes and he holds no more love for the King than you do. If he is in love with Morgana then that would certainly explain it." Nodded Gaius, rubbing his chin. He turned to Merlin and continued cautiously, "Remember Merlin, there is no man who would be left untouched by such darkness. That sort of evil leaves a stain on the soul."

"Can't say I'd blame him for wanting revenge. I know that I would." Merlin admitted, wondering what that made him. If someone had done that to his mother...well, it was best not to think on such things.

"Keep in mind that if Hadrian is after revenge, which is very likely, then he has waited years for it and planned accordingly." Gaius reminded his pupil, staring at Merlin until the boy made eye contact to show him how serious he was. "Hadrian is patient and careful. That makes him doubly dangerous. His hatred is not a fire that one could manipulate against him. It is cold, as slow and steady as winter. There's no doubt that his revenge will likewise be extremely cruel. He has had years to think about how to best torture his enemies."

"Do you think his revenge has driven him to evil?" Merlin questioned, suddenly concerned since Hadrian despised Uther and that could extend to Arthur as well. He didn't like the idea of having someone like that as a foe.

"I think who he is to his enemies and who he is to his allies are two very different men. The face we know is a friend to us, if only due to Morgana. Without her influence, Hadrian is neutral toward Camelot as a whole. He would not punish a kingdom for the crimes of it's king." Gaius answered after a long pause, believing that he had judged the young man correctly. "But to Bayar and those under his command? Yes, I think he is capable of great evil."

SCENE CHANGE (Timeskip: 1 Month)

Alvarr was feeling very good about himself. In the span of one month, he had been able to recruit forty able bodied men and ten women. That didn't seem like much, he knew, and it wasn't enough to defeat Bayar's battle hardened army, but it was a start and a damned good one when you considered what he had to work with. The spirits of the people of Blackwood were broken and had been so for nearly ten years, ever since the infamous Rape of Blackwood as the locals called it. It made him pity the people, most of whom just wanted to mind their own business and put food on their family's table while not drawing any attention.

However, even in the most broken population there were people willing to fight. It took him a good bit of patience and all of his oratory skill, but one by one he managed to track down the most vengeful and defiant people. Hadrian's gold went a long way in convincing the disenchanted recruits into joining their band and the equipment that gold had purchased soothed their worries. He was still required to give the occasional motivational speech and it seemed like he was always encouraging his soldiers, trying to inject some pride back into their spirits. The evil of Bayar had done it's work well on their minds, but he was slowly nursing their minds back into a proper state.

Enmyria was a god-send, without her around he would have never considered recruiting from the women but she had proved that one didn't need to be a mountain of muscle to pull back a bow string and served to inspire the few women they had managed to recruit. She was in charge of their training for the most part and not just the women, but the men as well depending on whether Alvarr was needed elsewhere or had some task that needed to be completed. After weeks of nonstop archery training, the band was finally shaping up into proper bowmen and showed the first signs of teamwork. He expected the women to do every job that the men did and was not disappointed by them, in fact they seemed to try even harder to prove they were not liabilities.

The women were among the fiercest soldiers in the band, their dogged determination made them a match for the physically superior men. In fact, he was so impressed by them that he would almost prefer having one of the women fighting at his side because when they fought, they **really** fought. Most of them were surivors of the camps from years earlier, having been only children at the time. The stories he heard had steeled his resolve and bred a deep hatred toward Baynar's forces in his heart. Such evil could not be allowed to continue. However, he could not argue with the results of the hardened women. Their tenacity was greater than most of the men, but having women in the camp brought it's own complications.

Alvarr had informed the band that he did not mind relationships between the men and women, but he demanded that they be consensual on both sides or else the perpatraitors would face a most terrible execution. He had been forced to have one such man drawn and quarted for misconduct in front of the others to prove his point. Of course, he also spoke of Sir Hadrian Blackwood to them. The women in particular were enchanted by his tales, some which were true and others were exagerrated stories he had come up with, but the men were also inspired by the stories.

The problem was that there was only so much stories could do. A leader needed to be seen and heard by his warriors, but for the moment Alvarr's tall tales served to make Hadrian larger than life to them, though he knew it would not last. It would not be long until doubt began to creep into their minds and work it's evil will on their already shattered spirits. His status as a foreigner was working against him, chafing his attempts to recuit others to their cause. The lack of progress also had it's influence. No one wanted to train for such long periods of time, nor would they do so if they did not see the fruits of their labors in the slain bodies of their enemies. These people, broken as they were, longed for the fires of war in an attempt to reforge their souls and rekindle their pride.

What he needed was Hadrian. Alvarr was a fine speaker and decent enough leader, but in the end he was in an officer position and an outsider at that. The Welsh were very reluctant to follow an outsider and did not trust him, especially since he was not of any clan. He had their allegience only due to being the chosen repesentive of Sir Hadrian, but that was a tentive loyalty since the people were not fighting for Alvarr or for gold, they fought for Hadrian Black. His show of support through funding had convinced them to follow Alvarr and Alvarr's stories bought them some time, but it would not be long before they began to wonder why they should fight for someone who would not fight alongside them.

In order to distract the group, Alvarr had led a few raids on small convoys bringing supplies to the garrisons. Not enough to grab anyone's attention, he made sure to pick the one's with the fewest soldiers, but it motivated the group and filled them with a sense of accomplishement. In the end, Alvarr was still stalling and recruiting until Hadrian arrived. He had sent his swiftest crow to his friend explaining the situation to him a week earlier and expected to recieve a reply back any day now.

"Any word yet?" Enmyria inquired quietly, standing next to Alvarr as he supervised the horseback aspect of their archery training.

"Not yet." He answered calmly, his voice equally quiet. Alvarr pretended as though there was no rush, but both he and his lover knew better. Time was against them, forcing them into conflict long before they were prepared. It was going to be an ugly fight. "Hadrian will show. He's never let me down."

"I know. It's just...it's difficult for any man to leave for war, especially if they must leave behind the one they love most." She said sadly, her voice a bit envious. "His lady love owns him, body and soul."

"How can you know that? We haven't even met the woman yet." Alvarr snorted at her romanticism, crossing his arms across his chest. "Likely as not, she's one of those spoiled noble types that scream at the sight of a sword and faint if there is any blood."

"I know this because a woman sees these things. There was love in his eyes. Confused, uncertain, and fragile, but beautiful." Enmyria smiled a bit longingly, making Alvarr frown for a moment. He reached out with one arms and embraced her, tucking her into his side to remind her that he was there and she was not alone or unloved. "Did you not see it?"

"I saw something. A lightness to him. Nothing more." Alvarr admitted honestly, for once not using his usual sly and charming words. "Do you think this will effect Sir Hadrian's judgement?"

"Oh, most definitely. Leaving her will be terrible for him, but he'll fight that much harder to end the war quickly so that he can return to her." She opinioned, grinning up at him with pink tinged cheeks. He smiled, rubbing one cheek with his roughly calloused hand. "I'm sure you can understand that."

"I do. I've nearly killed many of the recuits in my rush to your tent before." Alvarr remarked, smiling a bit himself in memory. "Well worth it. Worth more, actually."

"Good answer." She replied coyly, twirling a length of his hair around her fingers.

SCENE CHANGE (Timeskip: 2 Months)

Morgana woke up with a churning feeling in her stomach. She was instantly aware of what the day would bring and hated it with all of her might. The last few months had been the happiest of her life. For once, she felt safe. A feeling she had not enjoyed since her father died. The heavy lonliness that she had grown used to and feared she would always feel had been replaced by a blissful warmth so complete that she really felt like someone else, someone better. She was kind, not because it was expected of her, but because she knew Hadrian would approve and it made her feel like a goddess when he approved of her.

She had hope for the future, a future where she would rule side by side with her handsome husband surrounded by their many beautiful children in a peaceful land that flourished. A land of power and justice where all lived in balance with nature. A place where there were no more horrible witch burnings, no more starving children wondering where their parents were. It would be a land where even commoners would not starve easily. All people of all walks of life would be welcomed, servants and nobles would joke together. Not equals, but more equal. Her future kingdom, their kingdom. Her home, their home, where a multitude of gorgous children with black hair, green eyes, and her sharp wit would wake them up from their bed. And Hadrian and she would look to one another, smile and know that they could not be happier.

It was her dream to have all of that. Power, love, adoration, and acceptance. The headiest cocktail that a woman could embibe. Not even her nightmares of death and destruction could have any power over her while she was awake. Of course, there were snags. Hadrian was still stupidly honorable, not allowing her any closer than a brief peck on the lips. She had yet to find a way to lure him to her properly, but while the progess was slow, it was still steady. They could hold hands in public now without interference from the guards or the knights, so she supposed that was an improvement. She very much enjoyed parading her betroathed around in front of the other ladies of the court, gleefully and proudly pointing out all of his good points to rub it into their upturned noses.

Hadrian was annoyingly romantic. He enjoyed long walks, picnics, riding, all of which he did with a flair that turned her stomach from the unbearable sweetness of it, but luckily he also enjoyed training with her in the mornings, laughing about the silly schemes of the courtiers, and, her personal favorite, insulting Uther with her on a regular basis. Alas not even she could have it all, but at least she had it far better than anyone else and that was enough for Morgana. The fact that he gave her a steady supply of chocolate also tilted things in his favor. She had become quite addicted to the sugary brown bar of goodness, even to the point of being sick a few times.

She knew of his plans to reclaim his ancestrial lands and supported them, sometimes dreaming of freeing her own lands in a similar way. Her only problem with the little war of his was that eventually he would have to leave her to go fight. Such a thought terrified her and no amount of pretty promises from Hadrian soothed that fear. Morgana could still recall when her Gorlois had made similar promises before he went off to his own death. Her only comfort was that at least Uther was not in charge of commanding Hadrian's war effort. However, she still wanted to go with him and fight alongside him in the war, but Uther had forbid it, much to her resentment. Hadrian had assured her that he would write her and send messages with the crows regularly, but that was a hollow comfort at best.

"Milady, it's time to wake up." Gwen called out softly, lightly rapping on the door. Once again, Morgana was thankful that her maid was such an able servant. She did not know what she would do if she was stuck with someone like Merlin as her servant, though she did like the goofy boy well enough and even considered him something near a friend.

"Come in, Gwen." Morgana replied from her bed, forcing a well practiced smile onto her face so as to not needlessly worry the kind girl. Gwen entered, carrying her lady's breakfast. Usually, the smell of hot bacon, seasoned eggs, and the slice of roated boar would be delicious, but today it only made her stomach protest. Gwen sat next to her on the bed and set up the tray over Morgana's lap before placing the plate on top of it.

"Eat up, milady. You'll need your strength." Gwen told her kindly, despite her own face looking drawn and tired to match her mistress. "Hadrian's last look at you should be of you at your best, instead of fearful. How do you think he will react? He'll think that you lack confidence in him."

"'Last look'. Can't say that I enjoy those words." Morgana mumbled bitterly, poking at the eggs but taking a small bite, dry swallowing it in spite of her rolling belly. Gwen was right, she wanted to look her very best for him. "Were I accompanying him, I would be excited to be going off to war. As it is, I can't stand the thought of it."

"Sir Hadrian is strong, milady. He'll win his war and return to you a conquering hero with his lands back under his control." Gwen quickly assured her mistress and friend, trying to sound as certain as possible. Morgana shot her a thankful smile. "He will build a large castle for you both to live in, a place where you will one day raise your children together. You'll see."

"I worry for him Gwen and he hasn't even left yet. I fear he is too kind for war." She confessed, hating how her voice trembled. Oh, how she despised her own weakness! "And what if he returns, but is not the man who left? What if he forgets about me or finds someone else?"

"Come now, milady. You are being silly. Hadrian loves you, any fool can see it and love doesn't simply disappear from someone's heart." Gwen chastised, her brown eyes sympathetic. "He will be changed by war, I've no doubt, but it will only mature him."

"We were supposed have several more months together." Morgana pouted, feeling cheated out of having more time with Hadrian. Frustration welled up inside her, "Argh, why can't I just go to war with him?! At least then I could kill a bunch of Bayar's men!"

"Becuase the King forbid it?" Gwen offered, trying not to laugh at the look at Morgana's enraged face. Her mistress was a fierce one, no doubt about it, but Gwen was able to understand where she was coming from. If there was one thing Morgana hated more than someone 'stealing' her possessions, then it was feeling useless.

"Since when have I ever listened to Uther!" Morgana sneered hatefully, but then froze, a thoughtful looking entering her eyes that the maidservant did not like one bit. Slowly, a smirk began to tug on Morgana's lips. "Actually...that is a good point."

"Remember, Sir Hadrian does not wish for you to accompany him either." Gwen reminded, becoming worried when Morgana continued to smirk mischieviously. "Milady?"

"Don't worry, Gwen. I'm not foolish enough to actually go to war, though it was a nice thought for a little while." Morgana replied innocently, plucking up a bit of eggs and eating a small bite of it. "Now, please set out the blue dress. You know the one."

"Yes, milady." The maidservant sighed defeatedly, not convinced for a moment that Morgana was telling the truth. One thing she had learned about her mistress was that whenever Morgana appeared innocent then she was the farthest from it.

SCENE CHANGE (Timeskip: One Hour)

Clever hands latched on the pauldron, the long fingers expertly fitting the piece of armor so that it just barely overlapped the chest piece. Most knights did not wear a chestpiece except in times of war, but Morgana was not out of practice. She ruffled Sir Hadrian's black cloak, setting it so that it fell over his shoulders to the insides of his elbow for a little billowing action. It always looked so majestic to her when she saw flowing capes and wanted her love to look at his very best, if only to show him off more.

"Well, how do I look?" Hadrian asked, standing tall and trying to look as impressive as he could so that he could hide his blind terror of going to war. The very idea of war scared him, true war where there was no control to be had and even a single arrow at the wrong moment could be the death of him. He knew men would die, his men, the ones he would lead and there was nothing he could do about that fact. It was terrifying.

Morgana stepped back and inspected him. His black tunic with the gold trim was freshly cleaned and had a lovely sheen to it like a pelt, the fierce white dragon embroidered on the chest looked magnificent in her not so humble opinion. She favored that crest. His hair was well braided, the locks shiny and well kept enough to look presentable. At Hadrian's side, his sword Discerner was clasped securely to his belt and waited to be used. In his left hand was his black plumed helmet, the visor current raised for him. With his handsome face cleanshaven and the black cloak, he looked like a warrior prince. Her warrior prince. She stared at his green eyes, still so innocent in many ways and quietly mourned the future loss of that spark.

With a genuine smile, she said, "You look ready."

"Thank you, Morgana." He replied gratefully, stepping closer to her and laying his helm down on the carved table. Slowly, he took her hands in his own and stared into her eyes. "I wish that we had more time."

"As do I." She returned softly, allowing her vulnerability to show. Her walls had been up so long that it required some concentration lower them and reveal herself to him, but she knew that she could trust him. Morgana wanted to ask him to hold her, but the words caught in her throat and she couldn't speak.

Harry seemed to understand and pulled her gently to him, wrapping his chainmail covered arms around her securely and resting his chin on the top of her head. He wanted to stay like that forever, just holding her so innocently. It was truly a beautiful moment, one of the happiest moments of his life. He swore then and there that he would always return to her, no matter if he had to fight Bayar, Uther, the Ministry, Time, or Fate itself. He would return to her. Nothing mattered more to him than that, he knew that wholly and completely like nothing he had known before. It was certain, a fact as simple as the sky being blue and the grass green.

END OF CHAPTER

AN: I hope you enjoyed it. Kindly review and tell me what you like about the story, what you don't like about it, and where you'd like to see it go.


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